Elegy
by translucency for summertime
Summary: I notice the little things you do. Harry finds a mysterious note left for him on the floor of the boys' bathroom. When another one arrives, after another, it leads Harry to embark on a search for his pursuer. Officially non-canon, but not quite AU. BZHP
1. Nothings

**_Elegy _**

* * *

I notice the little things you do.

Like the way you nearly fall in the corridor outside of the Transfiguration classroom as your step turns into a skid when your foot hits the newly-waxed, shining floor and how you stiffen, afraid that you are about to fall. You don't. You turn your head slightly to glance behind you, a blush creeping up the sides of your neck, to make sure that no one has seen your near-spill. You sigh with relief, not seeing anyone, and most certainly not seeing me, hidden in the shadows behind you.

Or like when you bite the outside of your lip, the part closest to the corner of your mouth, when you concentrate on a Potions test, your forehead creased with worry and eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. I know that you had to ace it, that your grade was abysmal in Potions at the time.

Or how when an explosion erupted from Longbottom's cauldron last Tuesday, you immediately reached for your wand, ready to shoot off a spell at the drop of a hat towards the offender. I saw the panic in your eyes when you thought that it was a Death-Eater, or even Voldemort himself, who had created the blast on the opposite side of the room.

I notice how much it hurts you when anyone keeps something important from you, especially Weasley and Granger. You hate feeling like they're talking about you behind your back; you hate feeling like a freak.

I notice how much it hurts you when Draco attacks you. Whenever he calls your mum a mudblood or tells you that you aren't good enough.

I've heard you crying in the boys' room by the library every evening. The other two thirds of the Golden Trio probably don't even know that you're gone. They don't know the pain you're going through. I do. I understand.

It makes me want to gather you in my arms and tell you that I'm there for you, I always was.

And I always will be.

* * *

Harry's back hit the bathroom wall. As he sank down to the floor, sobs bubbled up from his chest. He cried.

Unbeknownst to him, a dark-skinned boy stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching him.

Harry rubbed his eyes and looked up from his hands, emerald orbs bleary. Something shimmered at him from the mirror, but when he turned to look, nothing was there.

It wasn't until he was leaving the bathroom that he noticed a folded piece of parchment lying on the floor.

* * *

Short, I know. But this really is just a prologue in actuality. If you like it I'll write more.

This ficlet (because if I do finish it, it will be no more than five chapters at most) is dedicated to violeteyedkitten. I know you wanted a Draco/Harry, L, but it just morphed into a Blaise/Harry. I found Draco becoming uncharacteristically soft.

Hope I didn't disappoint.

Review if you'd like.


	2. Quiet

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or the below poem. The author is stated at the end of the chapter, so if you don't want to ruin the surprise in the next chapter, skip the below author's note.

This chapter is dedicated to WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo and violeteyedkitten. Both of you are such an inspiration. xD

* * *

Harry picked up the piece of parchment, a curious, but wary, expression twisting his tear-striped face. He knew that it could have been a spell that was entrapped in the parchment, waiting to do him harm, but he opened it anyway. Deep down he was secretly wishing that he didn't have to be alarmed at a lonely piece of parchment sitting on the ground. But he wasn't naïve. He knew that he would never have that peace of mind.

His nimble fingers unfolded the letter, careful to press down the fold-creases until the entire page was almost flat again. The yellowed paper was nearly empty, except for a block of paragraph written in the middle with pitch black ink.

"There is a two-fold Silence- sea and shore-

Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,

Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,

Some human memories and tearful lore,

Render him terrorless: his name's 'No More.'"

"What the bloody hell…" Harry remarked after reading the poem for a third time. Deciding to talk to Hermione and Ron about it, he refolded the note and slid it into his pocket.

He continued his trek over to the sink, feet dragging against the crusty tiles as he went. He twisted the knob next to the spicket and splashed water on himself, washing his face of melancholy before he left for the Gryffindor tower.

"Hiya, mate," Ron greeted with an easy smile from his place in front of the fireplace.

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione asked, voice going shrill with concern at the end. Ron smiled sympathetically at his friend and rolled his eyes behind Hermione's back. Hermione just continued to stare at Harry, hands on her hips, waiting for an answer.

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry said, quickly thinking up an alibi, "I was in the library, doing some research for Potions. I wanted to surprise Snape; I thought maybe he'd lay off me if I knew more about what I was doing?" He ended the sentence with a question, on account of the incredulous look Hermione was giving him.

Suddenly, her expression changed to sheer happiness. "Well, good thinking, Harry! You see Ron, if you took the initiative like Harry did you wouldn't be failing half of your classes," Hermione turned to Ron, scowling. She smiled cheerfully at Harry. "I'm so glad that I didn't have to drag you both tomorrow. I was going to pull an intervention for an hour before your Quidditch practice, but now…well, Ronald I suppose still needs it, but you can help tutor him with me." She beamed.

"Oh, uh," Harry began, stumbling for the right words, "Actually, Hermione, I was wondering if you'd help me figure this out. I found it in the boys bathroom…" He pulled out the letter and handed it to her.

As she read, Hermione said slowly, "You know, Harry, this could have had something dangerous inside of it. You really shouldn't pick up foreign things, especially considering your role in this war."

"I know, it was stupid of me," Harry admitted.

"Merlin, Hermione," Ron groaned, "How do you possibly think like that _all_ the time? I think it would give me a head ache."

"Having a brain isn't a reason to get a head ache, Ronald," Hermione replied, handing the poem to him. Ron took it and also read it. Hermione waited for him to finish before giving her opinion.

"Well," she began. "I think the chance that this was just a commonplace thing is slim to none, personally. But it doesn't seem as if they're referring that they're going to do any harm to you in the stanza…I have to do some research."

"Great," Harry remarked, "You and Ron can go together." Ron deadpanned, although he quickly recovered and scowled at his raven haired friend. "You know, you two birds with one stone and all," Harry added.

"Why don't you come with us, _mate_?" Ron emphasized. Hermione was busy gathering her things to take back up to her dormitory, before they departed, and didn't spare the two a second glance. When she was out of ear range, he hissed, "Haaaaarrry! What were you-?" He quickly cut himself off when Hermione came back down the stairs.

"Alright, Ronald, off we go," she announced. "Harry? Are you coming along?"

"Er," Harry lied, "I have to finish up an essay, actually. So can I come next time?"

Hermione nodded. "Homework first, research later. Sounds good. See you later," she said, focus taking up most of her facial expression. She headed for the portrait's portal, Ron trailing behind her.

"Yeah, bye," Ron grumbled without a look back.

"Honestly, Ronald, I don't see why you can't…" was all that Harry heard before the portrait snapped shut behind the pair.

Harry visibly sighed in relief. He loved his best friends, with all of his heart, but sometimes he just couldn't handle being around them. Or other people, for that matter. He just felt so _claustrophobic_ when anyone was around him; he felt as if he couldn't breath.

He stared at his palms. The scars from last year were still there. And although they had healed well with minimal scarring, he could see every stroke of the Blood Quill as if he had written them again. He felt a well-known prickling tugging at the corners of his eyes.

He curled into a ball on the sofa and cried more.

* * *

The library was still. Madam Pince had locked herself in her office, after the last students had left, and wouldn't be out until much later that night. She smiled into her cup of tea. Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley had been the last ones out. Hermione was on a new research project, and had undoubtedly dragged the Weasley boy here. She had scoured through books upon books whilst he had only glared at his homework, every so often making a stray mark on his parchment.

Such focus and dedication was rare in the young people these days, she thought. Hermione was a dying breed. And she couldn't help but think that Hermione reminded her very much of herself.

As Madam Pince sunk into her reminiscent thoughts, she didn't notice a young man slip through the shadows of the darkened library.

He strode purposefully to the fiction section of the library. Cool moonlight spilled out from the crack of the window's curtain, illuminating a strip of his face. Handsome, high cheek bones gave way to a chiseled nose and full lips—lips which were currently whispering the name, "Plath…Plath…", alternating between breath and word.

When he reached the poetry shelves, he ran his slim fingers across the spines of the books until he reached the name he was looking for. Between the works of Randolph and Poe, he wriggled the skinny volume out of the shelves's clutches and the shimmering letters boasted "Sylvia Plath".

He flipped through the yellowing pages slowly, rubbing the individual pages between his thumb and forefinger, caressing the text, while searching the pages for what he was looking for.

After the twenty-first flip, he smiled softly and ran his finger across the black inked words. "Perfect," he whispered, barely audibly, and scribbled down the poem on a spare sheet of paper. He tucked both the quill and the sheet of paper into his messenger bag and replaced the book, leaving as quickly as he had entered.

* * *

The below poem is an excerpt from "Silence" by Edgar Allen Poe.


	3. Cadence

**Disclaimer:** See chapter two.

I think Harry's a bit OOC. So you have been warned.

* * *

Blaise hummed softly as he walked down the hallway. His footsteps added a clear cadence to the melody of the dreary elegy lilting off the edge of his breath. He stopped suddenly, turning his step into a right angle to turn the corner. He was about to cross the threshold of the library (as he was on the way to the Slytherin common room) when he heard a familiar voice.

"Well," his raven-haired love interest began from the other side of the wall, "I think that's a good idea, Hermone. I'll have to try that."

"Yeah, Hermione," Ron agreed, "Bloody brilliant."

"Well," Hermione sounded as if she were chewing over her words thoughtfully, "We'll have to test it out first, and see if whoever left you the message receives it. Or rather, if they receive it and decide to tell us about it."

Blaise frowned. 'Us'? This was supposed to be his line to Harry. Not his line to the Golden Trio. He shook his head. This would not do.

"Okay," Ron said, "So we're going to leave a response in the spot where Harry found the parchment?"

"Exactly," Hermione replied.

Blaise's frown lifted slightly, as he pondered what else the three would conjure up in means of their communication. It was border-line exciting. He smirked. _Well, let them think that they have the upper hand. Before long, I'll have Granger and Weasley out of the picture, and only darling Harry in sight._

* * *

Harry wrote his response carefully, taking extra measures to make sure his penmanship was legible—tidy and neat. Ron and Hermione were somewhere else, leaving Harry alone to do this by himself. He was somewhat relieved that they weren't around for this part. He knew that whoever had left the note had meant it for him, not him plus Hermione and Ron, so he felt like he should respond as just him, not him plus Hermione and Ron.

_To who left me the poem:_

_Who are you? Why did you leave me that poem? What did you mean by it?_

_There is a two-fold Silence- sea and shore-_

_Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,_

_Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,_

_Some human memories and tearful lore,_

_Render him terrorless: his name's 'No More._

_What is that supposed to mean? Did you write it?_

He sighed. He was getting somewhat frantic sounding and he knew it.

_I don't mean to sound stupid, or naïve, or like I'm obsessing over this. After all, this could very well just be a scrap piece of parchment that someone lost, and that someone who lost it may never receive this._

_I just want to know._

_My life is so complicated as is. I tend to over think things and then I think that everything pertains to me. And I don't mean to sound conceited or arrogant. They just usually do pertain to me. And I'm going to feel really stupid if this letter is just going to sit on the floor of the bathroom and never get back to you._

_But if you do get this, please reply. It would be nice to know that I'm not hallucinating._

Harry ended the 'g' with a flourish and stared down at his work with a blank expression. It was a hot mess of emotions, but he didn't know how to write it any way else. If Hermione had been there, it would be clinical and hard. If Ron had been there…who really knew.

He folded it into two and decided that it was good enough as it was. He set his quill down on the common room's table and made his way towards the boy's restroom.

* * *

Blaise smiled as he watched Harry place the response down on the tiled floor from his hiding place in the corner beside the sinks. He knew that Harry wouldn't notice him, he wasn't looking. Harry raked a hand through his black locks anxiously. He looked around the bathroom, and Blaise froze.

"Hey, Zabini," Harry greeted, uncharacteristically warm to the boy.

"Hello, Potter," Blaise returned, a bit stunned at the fact that Harry had noticed him. Blaise was used to blending in with the shadows. He was not used to people noticing him.

Harry threw him a toothy smile. "Studying for Potions?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. Blaise glanced down at the Potions book in his arms and felt a weight lift off of his chest. He smiled back. I can do this. I can talk to Harry, he thought, easy.

"Yeah, I am," he answered. "Never know when Snape might throw a pop quiz at us."

Harry laughed in agreement. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow in class then." He waved as he exited the bathroom, and Blaise stared at the doorway in awe.

"Well, I never thought that talking to him would be that easy," he said to himself, barely audible. He knew that he wasn't the most outgoing person, nor the most verbose and eloquent whilst speaking to people. But the conversation between himself and Harry had just _flowed_.

He grinned as he reached down for the reply to his poem.

* * *

Draco Malfoy frowned as he overheard the exchange between Zabini and Potter. It sounded almost as if the two were friends. He pressed himself flat against the side of the hallway when Potter exited the restroom. The other boy headed towards the Gryffindor tower without looking backwards once.

He was about to turn to leave, or go into that bathroom himself and confront Zabini about the oddity that had just occurred, (he hadn't quite made up his mind yet) when he heard Zabini muttering to himself about something. Draco smirked. He always knew that the brunette was a touch off in the head.

He made up his mind.

"Oi, Zabini," he drawled as he stepped into the other boy's line of sight. He barely noticed that Zabini slipped a piece of parchment into his Potions textbook before he drew the book closer to his side, in front of him so that it was almost shielding himself against Draco.

"Draco," Zabini flashed him a cool smile. "We've been dorm-mates for over six years now. Do I always have to remind you to call me Blaise?"

"You will just once more," Draco sneered cockily.

Blaise raised his eyebrows, but chose not to respond.

"I don't know why you're getting all cozy with Potter, but don't think that I haven't noticed it," Draco informed him. "I have. And I'll be keeping an eye on you from now on. As will, I'm sure, all the rest of Slytherin once I've told them about this."

Draco turned sharply to leave. Before he fully exited, he turned his head slightly to the side. "No decent Slytherin consorts with a Gryffindor. Or, at least, no Slytherin gets away with it."

* * *

Freaking short, I'm aware. But don't look for super long chapters here. They're going to be shorter and to-the-point.

Attention readers who are having a problem with Blaise. So as my lovely beta (thanks a bunch, dear) pointed out to me, Blaise is suffering from what I like to call the Kieran-syndrome. That means that since he's my baby at the moment I cringe when thinking of putting unattractive qualities into him. So Mary Sue for sure. I'll work on that for future. But bear with me, please and thank yous.

Reviews are greatly appreciated, or if you'd like to PM me with a question, don't be shy.


	4. Ostinato

**

* * *

**

**Disclaimer: **See chapter two for disclaimer. It applies for the entire story.

* * *

After Draco had told the entire Slytherin house of the conversation between himself and Harry, Blaise found himself to be the pariah of the school. If you were a Slytheirn in the first place, he had found, you didn't have many friends to begin with. He was fine with that. What doesn't kill you could only make you stronger, or so said his mother's seventh husband and his sixth step-father. Of course, he had died two months after being married to his mother. Let's just say that his mother's degree in Chemistry hadn't been cheated through after all.

But when you were a Slytherin one of the nice things was, and this was one of the only nice things about being a Slytherin, that every Slytherin had your back. If you were being beat up by some snot from Ravenclaw, you could count on a group of passing-by Snakes to drop whatever they're holding to help you out, no matter where they had to be or who that Ravenclaw was.

As long as you followed certain rules.

Rule number one: don't fraternize with the Gryffindors. Every Slytherin hated the Gryffindor house in general. They were favored by Dumbledore, by the majority of the teachers, and by the rest of the school. They were "the good guys". Blaise had snorted along with every other Slytherin when he had heard that in the first year. They were just a bunch of ponce goody-two-shoes.

Rule number two: don't fraternize with the single young man who's put the majority of the Slytherin house's parents in jail. Sure, Potter was just a baby when the spell backfired on Voldemort, but that signified the end of the first war. And when the first war ended, so did the Slytherin's grand reign of glory.

Blaise had broken both of the rules.

The other Slytherins weren't exactly lining up to beat the pulp out of him, as he was sure was what Draco had hoped for, but they most certainly were no longer going to drop whatever they were doing to help get him out of a bind.

Blaise shook with laughter as he watched three lowerclassmen scurry away from him in fear. Apparently, being a pariah also made you a tough guy. Not a bad deal, he supposed to himself.

He unfolded Harry's letter for the umpteenth time that night. And for the umpteenth time that night, he cringed as he felt Harry's insecurities and fear come up at him from the paper.

He smiled grimly and wrote.

* * *

_You will be aware of an absence, presently,_

_Growing beside you, like a tree,_

_A death tree, color gone, an Australian gum tree --_

_Balding, gelded by lightning—an illusion,_

_And a sky like a pig's backside, an utter lack of attention_

_But right now you are dumb._

_And I love your stupidity,_

_The blind mirror of it. I look in_

_And find no face but my own, and you think that's funny_

_It is good for me_

_To have you grab my nose, a ladder rung._

_One day you may touch what's wrong --_

_The small skulls, the smashed blue hills, the godawful hush._

_Till then your smiles are found money._

* * *

_You are not hallucinating._

* * *

Hermione's eyebrows shot up to her hairline as she read the newest poem. Harry had only given his two friends that note, refraining from giving them the more personal message which had been left on a separate piece of parchment. "I know this poet!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Plath! Sylvia Plath!"

"Who's Sylvia Plath?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food.

"She's a muggle poet," Harry answered as he pushed around the string beans on his plate. When he saw Hermione's questioning look, he said in defense, "We learned about her in my fourth grade English class."

Hermione nodded. "I did as well. But I had read her work a few years before."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Typical, 'Mione."

"Typical, Hermione," Harry agreed, but not unkindly. For the first time in a few weeks, he smiled at Hermione and was genuinely happy.

"This gave me an idea," Hermione continued. "The other poem _had_ to be by a prominent poet, and most likely one that has a repertoire in our library. And there has to be a theme of some sort to their picking of poets, it can't just be random…"

"…so we should search for poems in the P section first," Harry finished.

"It's only practical," Hermione said.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Ron asked, eyes glimmering with excitement. He always enjoyed a good game of strategy.

"Harry to finish his greens," Hermione replied, taking on a motherly tone.

"Alright, _mum_," Ron whined. Harry merely grinned and forked at the remains on his plate.

* * *

Neville Longbottom's warm brown eyes flickered towards the three huddled in the corner of the Gryffindor common room. They whispered quietly to one another, careful not to let anything slip through the tight triangle they had formed over the years. When Ron raised his head and caught Neville looking in their direction, Neville's eyes dropped to his hands.

"It's awful," Ginny said as she sat down on the chair across from him. She smiled glumly, eyes shining with sympathy. Neville looked up at her.

"What is?" he inquired, although a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach knew what she most likely was talking about.

"The three of them," she answered. "Don't get me wrong, it's pretty incredible, their relationship and all. But isn't it awful how hard it is to break through their little circle?"

Neville's eyes went back to the three. He was afraid that they would hear Ginny talking about them.

"Don't worry," she said, scoffing slightly. "They wouldn't hear me if I was yelling into Ron's ear."

Neville nodded. He kept his eyes trained on the fireplace, though no fire was kindled or was going to be for a month or so. Ginny noticed his melancholy state and added, "But don't get too put down by it, Nev. You have me." She smiled cheerfully and began to prattle on about her current classes.

Neville couldn't help but tune her out as he thought about his aching heart and the reason why he yearned to be close to the Golden Trio so badly.

* * *


	5. Melancholy

**Disclaimer:** See chapter two. It applies.

* * *

_Hermione says that I should refer to you by some title and that entitling each letter "to whoever left me the poem" is no longer adequate. I don't know what to call you, so I guess I just won't._

_Hermione also says that the part about me being aware of an absence soon is a threat. That you're going to inflict some kind of harm on me or somebody else that I know._

_I don't think that's what you mean at all._

* * *

_I like for you to be still  
It is as though you are absent  
And you hear me from far away  
And my voice does not touch you  
It seems as though your eyes had flown away  
And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth  
As all things are filled with my soul  
You emerge from the things  
Filled with my soul  
You are like my soul  
A butterfly of dream  
And you are like the word: Melancholy_

* * *

_I am writing these poems  
From inside a lion,  
And it's rather dark in here.  
So please excuse the handwriting  
Which may not be too clear.  
But this afternoon by the lion's cage  
I'm afraid I got too near.  
And I'm writing these lines  
From inside a lion,  
And it's rather dark in here. _

* * *

Hermione scrutinized the newest poems. "He is…inside a lion…" Ron observed bemusedly.

"It's metaphoric, Ronald," Hermione said sharply. Harry suppressed a groan. Today was not a good day between Ron and Hermione, as fight upon fight had chipped away Hermione's already-thin good mood.

"Maybe he's saying that he is a Gryffindor?" Harry contributed. Hermione hmmed but did not say anything else. Ron merely looked away scowling.

"H-hello, Harry," Harry heard a small voice say from behind him. He turned around to find Neville standing there. "Ron, Hermione," he quickly tacked on.

"Hiya, Nev," Harry greeted warmly. An awkward minute was spent between the two, as Harry was waiting for Neville to continue with whatever he wanted to talk about. But when Neville did not continue, Harry told him, "Have a seat," and pulled out the chair next to him.

Neville sat, and Harry smiled at him, trying to coax it out of the nervous boy.

"I'm going to go sleep," Ron announced. Without saying any other goodbye, he got off of his chair and walked up the steps. Harry looked over at Hermione.

Her eyes shining with frustrated tears, she rebuked, "Well, if he isn't going to put any effort into this, neither am I!" She stormed up the opposite staircase and disappeared behind a slammed door.

"Looks like it's just us," Harry commented.

Another awkward moment passed, and Harry started, "Well, Nev-" while Neville began to say, "Well you see, Harry…"

"You go first," Neville said, cheeks tinged pink with a blush.

"No, you go," Harry insisted.

"Well, I was going to ask you if you'd be willing to tutor me in Potions," Neville mumbled, embarrassment showing through his otherwise muddy-sounding garble.

"Oh, is that all?" Harry asked with evident relief. The way Neville was asking, you'd have thought that his Gran had died or something. "Sure, what days work for you?"

Neville bit his lip to stop himself from admitting that every day of the week would work for him. "Well…" he began, calculating in his head when Quidditch practices occurred, days Harry would not be available on, "Tuesdays and Thursdays are the best…but I suppose if you were too busy then Saturday nights would work as well…" He mentally winced as he added Saturday, the day predominantly known as "date night".

"Tuesdays and Thursdays work fine for me," Harry agreed.

"Thanks so much, Harry," Neville said.

"Anytime, Nev. What're friends for?" Harry replied, chuckling slightly.

Neville studied Harry's face intently. Harry turned away. It was his turn to be embarrassed now; he wasn't very fond of too much attention. "I'm exhausted," he told Neville, "I think I'm going to bed too."

"Good night, Harry," Neville told him as Harry gathered his things.

Harry left with a wave of his hand.

* * *

"I don't like what I've been hearing about you and the Boy Wonder," a pretty brunette told Blaise as she sat down beside him in the library. Her pale hand went to grasp Blaise's dark one. He let her, and she interlaced her fingers with his.

"What have you been hearing, exactly?" Blaise inquired. He dipped his quill in the inkwell with his left hand, the one not currently occupied, and began to curl letters onto the page before him.

"That you and Potter were chatting it up in the boy's bathroom. That Draco found you two and broke up whatever lovefest was going on in there," she informed him matter-of-factly. "And there has been a serious debate between my little sister's first year friends as to who is taking it up the duff."

Blaise spluttered, and his face reddened. "Excuse me?" he asked. "As if that debate should even be occurring. They very obviously don't know Potter well enough to know that he would most obviously top."

She grinned. "That's what I told them exactly. But then they got onto the whole overly emotional ordeal that he went through last year…lets just say that even though you aren't exactly the prime specimen of masculinity, you're above that."

Blaise frowned. "Harry was going through a difficult time last year. People gossiping are despicable, anyway." He cleaned his quill's tip of any remains of ink. "And who says that a dominant male can't have emotions?"

"What I want to know," she said, "is if you're interested in him. I know the rest is complete and utter bull."

Blaise scanned the library. The only other people there were two lone souls sitting on the opposite side of the room. He looked back at his friend. "Daphne," he began, "I think I'm in love."

Daphne raised a tweezed eyebrow. "If this Honeyduke's employee kind of love?"

"Tim had a hot ass, you've got to admit. But no. I really like him, Daph, I really do," Blaise admitted.

"Then talk to him," Daphne said, stressing the 'talk' part.

"I did. That's what Draco overheard. Me talking to him," Blaise defended himself.

"Please don't stalk him," Daphne begged.

"I don't stalk," Blaise replied coldly.

"Yes, you do," Daphne repeated. "And one of these times it could end badly. Tell me, what exactly are you doing this time?"

Blaise looked away and let go of her hand. "I'm leaving him poems," he muttered.

"Aww," Daphne crooned, "That's actually quite sweet. Sickeningly so, but still quite nice. Just poems? Nothing else?"

"He likes to reply with little notes. In the beginning it was a "who are you? What do you want?" kind of response. But now they're…I don't know. It's as if he doesn't mind that I'm doing this. Like it doesn't completely creep him out."

"I demand to see these love letters immediately," Daphne informed him, a possessive touch in her tone could be heard.

"Just as soon as you show me your love notes to Hannah Abbott," Blaise returned.

* * *

The first poem is written by Pablo Neruda, and the second is written by Shel Silverstein.


	6. Resolution

**Disclaimer: **Chapter two. Applies.

* * *

"I'm getting tired of the whole you-Harry situation," Daphne Greengrass said bluntly, after another couple of weeks of note-exchanging between Blaise and Harry. "If you like the boy, you should talk to him. Simple as that. Dilly-dallying around with pen and paper just doesn't solve anything, doll. Be a big boy and talk to the dear."

Blaise grumbled into his pillow. The petite brunette was perched on the edge of his bed, in the Slytherin boy's dormitory, where Blaise had been sleeping until moments before. Slytherin dormitories usually were three students to a room, but in light of recent circumstances, the two other boys that shared Blaise's dorm had taken another room as their own. "What was that?" Daphne said with a cheeky smile spreading across her face.

Blaise threw a pillow at her in response. When the pillow missed Daphne by more than a foot, she replied, "I won't even lie by saying that your throwing a pillow at me was well said, because it missed me by a landslide. Now get up so we can converse."

He merely burrowed deeper into his covers, ignoring her completely. "Wakey, wakey, Blaise-y," she cooed, batting her eyelashes coyly at the boy's nearly-sleeping form.

He didn't comply, but emitted a snore in blatant defiance. "Look, Blaise. We can either speak about this like civil human beings or you can go without a best friend," Daphne spoke angrily.

"Daph, it is five o'clock in the morning," Blaise murmured sleepily.

"So?! You're supposed to put up with my crazy talking sessions in the early hours. You see, this is partially why I abhor men," she said frankly.

"Uh huh. I see," Blaise replied. He propped himself up into a sitting position. Daphne calmed down.

"Sloth is one of the seven sins, you know, Blaise-y," she sniffed. "It's a very unattractive habit that you should try to break."

Blaise shot her a pointed look. "I'm aware," he drawled. "And just so you know, I am planning to talk to Harry."

"Oh really," Daphne said, a whisper of excitement in her voice.

"Yes, really," he replied. "Before Christmas break."

"Or during," Daphne suggested.

"During?" Blaise replied skeptically, "Doesn't he always go home with Weasley during Christmas break?"

Daphne shrugged. "How would I know? I don't have a degree on Harry Potter."

"Thank Merlin," Blaise laughed. "Before Christmas break," he repeated, mostly to himself, "That will have to work."

"If you say so," Daphne intoned nonchalantly. "I'm just happy that you'll finally stop mooning over the poor thing and actually do something. He must be so out-of-sorts, not knowing who you are and whatnot."

* * *

Harry Potter was indeed out-of-sorts about what to do about his mysterious paramour. Winter break was quickly closing in on him, and he was determined to figure out who the leaver-of-notes was before he went to the Weasleys for Christmas. Hermione and Ron were still perfectly willing to help, but Harry tried to keep them further away from the task at hand as of late. He was adamant about solving this puzzle himself.

Nothing in the notes really revealed anything important. All he knew was that the person was a lover of poetry, from all of the poems that he managed to spew off, and that they were interested in him somehow. The thought of Voldemort had crossed his mind once or twice, but he couldn't bring himself to think the worst about the person.

He wanted the outcome to be good, for just this one time.

He shook the thoughts out of his head and prepared himself for his upcoming tutor session with Neville. Believe it or not, the sessions really did seem to be helping the boy a little bit. He rounded the corner and stepped into the library.

"Hello, Harry," Neville beamed as he spotted Harry. Over the last few weeks, Neville had begun to be okay with talking to Harry and had grown in confidence significantly. All previous stuttering and stammering that was there had ceased altogether.

"Hey, Nev," Harry replied as he sat down across from Neville. Books were already spewed across the table, making look as if Neville had been hard to work studying before Harry had got there. "Hard at work?"

"Oh, yes," Neville replied. "I really think I can get an Acceptable this year in Potions if I try hard enough. You're such a great tutor, Harry."

Harry waved away the compliment embarrassedly, pink tinging his cheeks. "I haven't done anything at all. You're the one putting in the hard work," he told him.

Neville paused for a moment, before speaking cautiously, "Well, since we've both worked so hard, would you care to join me for a butterbeer the next Hogsmeade trip?"

"Sure. Hermione, Ron, and I were thinking of going anyway. We'll be a foursome," Harry agreed.

"Actually," Neville began quietly, "I was thinking that we could go alone…"

"Oh," Harry said.

"…like a date," Neville finished.

"_Oh_," Harry repeated, this time with recognition of what Neville was saying.

Neville's eyes flickered towards Harry's. "You know, Nev," Harry said, "I don't know if I'm ready to begin dating…"

"Just one drink, Harry," Neville asked again.

"I don't think I can. I'm sorry."

"You never know until you try," Neville said. "At least, that's what my Gran always says."

"You're a great guy and everything, I just…"

"What is it that's the problem, Harry?" Neville asked heatedly. "Is it that you don't know me well enough? Okay. I'm an orphan, like you. I'm an only child. I have a pet frog. I like poetry, candle-lit dinners, long walks on the beach…"

"You like poetry?" Harry interrupted.

"Yeah," Neville answered with a smile.

"I like for you to be still…It is as though you are absent…And you hear me from far away…And my voice does not touch you…" he quoted. When Harry paled, he explained, "It's one of my favorites. It's written by Pablo Neruda. Have you heard of him?"

Harry whispered, "No, I haven't."

"Are you alright, Harry? You look a little peakish," Neville asked concernedly.

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine, Neville," he answered. "In fact, I'm more than fine. I would love to go on a date with you."

* * *

Sorry for the delay. I was working on stage crew for the autumnal one-act plays that my school does. Believe it or not, back stage stuff takes –really- long.


	7. Leaning

* * *

I notice the little things you do.

I notice how when you glance at yourself in a mirror, the reflection of your plate, the reflection of a friend's eyes that you become somber and a yearning expression settles upon your face. It's almost is if you're okay with what you are, but you want to be so much more. And that it hurts.

I know.

Because that's the same way I feel sometimes.

I noticed that the entire day before your date with Longbottom you were nervous. Jittery hands, tapping feet, queasy faces. At the same time you were about to die of happiness, the clenching fist that held onto your heart was finally letting go.

It makes me sick to my stomach.

**I** was the one that was supposed to be your knight in shining armor. I was the one who put all the effort into writing you the most perfect love notes with the most fitting poems. I was the one who waited all these years to get up the courage to finally make my move. I was the one.

I suppose it doesn't really matter in the end.

All that matters is that you're happy. If you're happy with him, then I'm happy for you. I'll gladly bow out. Just as long as you're the most happy and most content that you could possibly be, I will let you be. It will kill me, I won't lie. But I'll leave you alone.

I notice how you act around Longbottom now. How when you two are sitting together, you'll lean in towards him, as if intoxicated by his very presence. How you'll cup your hand around your mouth and whisper things into his ear with quirked lips. How he'll turn around quickly to peck your lips, taking you completely off guard.

I've heard the little Hufflepuffs talking about you two so many times that every time it occurs it makes me want to wring their necks. "They're so sweet together." "They'll last forever." "He's so lucky to have him, and vice versa."

"A match made in heaven."

Daphne keeps telling me that I need to tell you that I'm the one you should be leaning into. I should be the one kissing you.

But I won't.

Because as long as you're happy, the world is good.

* * *

Blaise Zabini sunk down into the green and silver chair, which was settled in the corner of his dormitory, far away from any prying eye that might stumble upon him at two in the morning. Pieces of parchment were littered about him, words glaring up at the miserable boy.

_It seems as if no one understands me…_

_Ron and Hermione are too wrapped up in themselves to notice anything beyond their reach. I mean, I'm not complaining but…_

He crumpled up one letter and threw it down on the ground with the others.

_I wish we could meet. Writing letters is nice and all, but there's just something so much better about actually talking with a person…_

He reread another letter for the millionth time. Chuckling darkly, he tore it down the middle and let it fall to the floor, another leaf on the forest's floor, and buried his head in his arms, sobbing.

_Love, Harry_

Not the end, don't worry. I look at this chapter as the midpoint, in all actuality. I think I'd like at least three reviews before the next chapter. I was a bit disappointed with the reaction to last chapter, or lack there of. Thanks WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo for your input, however. Much appreciated.


	8. Confidence

"Well, Neville, you've settled out pretty well," Ginny told him with an envious smirk when he sat down on the couch across from her. "Finally a part of the Golden Trio. Or, at least, as close to the Golden Trio as anyone could possibly get."

Neville smiled happily. "Harry's so amazing," he replied, eyes shimmering.

"You're love-sick," Ginny said plainly.

"And proud of it," Neville countered.

He felt a weight settle beside him, and an arm hooked around his waist. "Proud of what?" Harry asked.

"Proud of my amazing boyfriend," Neville replied, leaning into the taller boy's frame. Harry dropped his head so it rested on Neville's, while Ginny made a disgusted face.

"You two are awful," she sniffed. "Two perfectly good men who are taken off the straight spectrum." She sighed and got up to leave.

* * *

Blaise settled into his desk for Potions class. He slung his knapsack across the back of his chair and rummaged around for a quill, unaware of the scene occurring in the front of the classroom. He slipped a poetry book underneath his desk, away from Snape's prying eyes, and thumbed through it to the page he had last been on.

"…Mr. Longbottom, I see that you've managed to not blow up your cauldron in a remarkable entire week, thanks to your celebrity _boyfriend_," Snape sneered towards Neville's general direction.

Neville mumbled something unintelligible.

"What was that?" Snape hissed dangerously.

"Uh-um," Neville stuttered, "I-I said that it really i-isn't fair of you to treat Harry l-l-like that…Professor Snape, sir…"

Snape's eyebrows rose into his hairline. "Oh really?" he replied, thoroughly taken aback but quickly regaining his composure.

"Y-Yeah," Neville said, gaining a little bit of confidence. "Harry isn't anything at all like what you make him out to be, and it hurts him whenever you c-cut into him like that. I w-would really appreciate it if you w-would please stop."

"Take a seat, Mr. Longbottom," Snape intoned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Neville nodded and began walking to his chair, which was set diagonally from Blaise's desk, when Snape called, "And don't presume to tell me what to do if you plan on staying in this class."

Neville plopped onto his chair, scowling at the back of Snape's head.

Harry scurried into the classroom, seconds before the bell rang to begin the period. Before Snape could make any snarky comments toward him, he took a seat in front of Blaise.

"Hey Nev," he said, slightly out of breath, as he got out his things.

"Just because you think you're better than the rest of the students, Mr. Potter, does not mean that you can talk out whenever you so wish," Snape admonished. He strolled along the front of the rows, handing out vials of belladonna.

Harry stayed silent, not wanting to get into any more trouble this period.

Neville, however, turned to Blaise and whispered, "I hate that man!"

Blaise merely quirked an eyebrow upwards while Snape remarked, "I heard that, Mr. Longbottom. Ten points from Gryffindor for slurs against a teacher."

A chorus of groans went up from the Gryffindors of the classroom, while a silent but effective cheer went up from the Slytherins. "Good going, Longbottom," Malfoy hissed happily. Blaise kept his eyes on the poem he was reading and did not look up.

Not even when Harry asked Neville to recite him a poem, and when Neville happily complied.

* * *

"You need to tell him," Daphne informed Blaise when he sat down at the Slytherin table for lunch that day.

"No, I don't," he replied.

"You're going to be miserable for the next six months if you don't, Blaise-y, and you know it. I'm not going to put up with you if you're going to be miserable. You know my mother's personal trainer says that bad energy, even radiating from another, is bad for your inner spirit," Daphne said coolly. "And do you really want to be accountable for harming my inner spirit?"

Blaise chose to ignore his best friend and attack the piece of chicken that had settled upon his plate.

"Fine, don't talk to me," Daphne said, flipping her long brown hair behind her shoulder crossly. She got up and left without another word, leaving Blaise by himself.

He didn't question where she was going, as very frankly she did this quite often when she was upset at him (which was once again, quite often). He figured that she was probably just going to vent at Millicent Bulstrode, who would sit there and absorb the information without so much as an 'okay' being emitted from her mouth.

Daphne told him that was why she loved confiding in her quiet friend, she could trust her not to spill any of her secrets. Blaise knew that she only ever said that to make him jealous of her and Millicent's 'friendship' and also knew that it never really worked.

What Blaise did not know, however, was that Daphne was not going to vent with Millie, but instead was making her way towards the Gryffindor table, where Harry Potter was sitting with Seamus Finnigan and Parvati Patil.

* * *

Good job, guys. You reached the review askance, which give me all the more faith to ask you this time for five reviews before I update.

Bon chance!


	9. Ignorance

"Blaise." A quick rapping against said boy's door was followed by the sentiment, but not before being proceeded with a long sigh. "I didn't do anything that would make Harry think it was you. I swear."

Blaise, back against the wooden door, head resting beside the golden door knob, clamped his lips tighter, drawing them into a thin red line.

"Blaise, let me in," Daphne repeated softly. She slid down to her knees and pressed her forehead against the door, so that her forehead was flush with where the back of Blaise's head was on the opposite side.

"I didn't do any harm."

He drew in a sharp breath.

"Now at least he'll be thinking about it."

He shut his eyes.

"Now at least Longbottom won't get the credit so easily."

An agonized moan escaped from the bottom of his throat.

"Blaise."

He didn't answer. And although Daphne knew that he wasn't going to, she stayed there nevertheless.

* * *

"It was so odd," Seamus agreed, nodding his head fervently at the small group of Gryffindors that had gathered around him in the Gryffindor common room.

"What exactly happened, again?" Ron asked.

Seamus and Parvati exchanged sly glances before looking pointedly at Harry, forcing him to retell the story.

"Well," Harry began, "The three of us were eating lunch when Daphne Greengrass came up to us, completely out of the blue…"

"…and she goes to Harry, 'You are an idiot," Parvati took over, missing the raised eyebrow Seamus sent her way. Harry gladly accepted the change of attention and took the new turn to snuggle up to Neville. "Just like that. 'You are an idiot.'"

"So naturally," she continued, "Seamus asked, 'Who's an idiot?'"

"And she replied…"

_Daphne stared coldly at Seamus, who returned with a cheeky grin. "Harry," she continued, without moving her eyes, "is the idiot I'm speaking of at the moment. Although I'm not completely averse to making the assumption that you are as well, Finnigan." She completely ignored Parvati, who sat there observing the situation with a fascination._

"_I barely know you," Harry half-chuckled, half-said, "So I doubt you know that well either."_

"_True," Daphne gave him. "But I'm qualified enough in this aspect of your life to tell you that you're being a complete and total idiot."_

_Harry sighed. "How am I being an idiot?"_

"_Do you really think that Neville Longbottom is capable enough to have written you all those poems?" she asked quietly._

"_Excuse me?" Harry asked, more making sure that what she had said was true than him not hearing her. _

"_You heard me," Daphne told him, before turning on her heel and walking out of the Great Hall._

"It was _so_ weird," Parvati repeated.

"What does she mean, write you all those poems?" Neville asked confusedly.

Harry flashed him a smile. "All those amazing poems you left for me. You know, the ones that I replied to. They're mainly the reason I agreed to go out with you in the first place," he said.

Neville's mouth opened slightly and looked confused. When he closed his mouth a moment later, a calm and collected expression replaced it. "Oh yeah," he lied. "How could I forget?" He laughed.

The group laughed with him.

"Yeah, for awhile those notes were the only thing Harry'd talk about," Ron teased.

As the group went on talking about the ordeal of the last weeks, Neville detached himself from them, telling them that he had to go to the restroom. As he was walking, he thought.

_I know that I didn't write those notes._

_But I know that if I want to stay with Harry I'll have to pretend that I did._

* * *

"Blaise," Daphne said the next night, both of them in the same position.

"What?" The voice was gritty and sleep-deprived, as he had curled up in front of the door in a fetal position last night to sleep.

Daphne smiled slightly. Talking back to her was definitely progress. "Longbottom doesn't have a clue about the notes," she told him.

"What does that mean?" Blaise asked. He twisted the door knob and shoved the door open, a sign that Daphne took for her to come in, which she followed.

She sat down in the chair across from his bed. "It means that since he hasn't written Harry the notes, he'll either lie to Harry, which is a grandiose mark against his character, or he'll tell Harry the truth," she said simply.

Blaise's mouth twisted into a grim smile. He replied softly, "I don't want Harry to get hurt."

Daphne was sympathetic. "He's going to be hurt either way."

"Ignorance is bliss," Blaise quoted.

"Ignorance is ignorance," Daphne retorted, "And if Harry is anything like the person who I think he is—who _you_ think he is—he'd rather know the truth and be hurt than blinded and happy."

Blaise chose not to reply.

He knew it was true.

* * *

Harry returned to the bathroom outside of the library. Head in his hands, he slid down the tiled wall once more.

Something in his subconscious tugged at his heartstrings, Daphne's words repeating over and over in his head.

_Do you really think Neville Longbottom is capable enough to have written you all those poems?_

Neville had quickly discouraged that thought. Harry knew he ought to trust him.

But something just didn't fit.

* * *

Review!


	10. Confrontation

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything…at all.

* * *

Neville trotted happily as he whistled down the hall. He really couldn't get over how crafty he was being. He cut off the tune on high C and grinned. "Bloody brilliant."

Harry just wasn't as receptive to him after that Daphne girl had spoiled the huge "secret" that he hadn't even known about in the first place, and Neville had to correct that. Before that, things were perfect. He was sure that it wasn't too late for everything to go back as it was.

Ginny had told him about Harry's doubts that Neville had written the notes, after she herself had heard them from Ron. She said that Harry was sure that Neville should still be his boyfriend but that he was uncertain about him telling the truth on that matter.

Neville had chuckled nervously and assured Ginny that he had indeed written the notes to Harry. "I've been interested in Harry for years. I know some poems by heart. Who else could it be?"

She had nodded and smiled back, clearly accepting the answer. Neville just hoped that she would pass the information onto her brother, which would eventually get back to Harry.

He just needed to reassure him.

Which was why he was planning on penning a poem for him.

* * *

"All you have to do is write him another note!" Daphne exclaimed excitedly, and out of the blue, that evening. Blaise raised an eyebrow but didn't look up from his poetry book.

"What would that accomplish?" he drawled. "He'd probably figure that it was just Longbottom writing him one again. And we don't want dear old Neville to reap any more of my benefits."

"The choice in poems would be all different if Longbottom wrote the notes," Daphne scoffed. "He's a bleeding heart; he'd go sappy and crappy. You, however," she looked pointedly at her friend, "are a bit more thoughtful and methodical."

"It's night and day, really," she finished.

"If Harry were to scrutinize the choices of the poems, that would prove him far more adept than I gave him credit for," Blaise remarked coldly.

"Oh, ouch," Daphne said in surprise. Blaise usually had nothing but kind words to say about his crush, and this side of him was disheartening.

"It's true," he slammed his book shut.

"What happened to 'I don't want Harry to get hurt' or 'I'm Blaise-Couldn't-Hurt-a-Fly-Zabini and I can't snatch Harry away from Longbottom because that wouldn't be very nice'?" Daphne inquired.

"That's a shit attitude that's only kept by losers," he reasoned quietly.

"Maybe," Daphne supposed, "Or maybe not. Maybe it's a shit attitude that's kept by winners."

"Right," Blaise scoffed.

"You don't see people that hurt other people get very successful, do you? Well, other than Death-Eaters. And many prominent Ministry members…but anyway, no you don't. They end up in Azkaban. _That_ is not very successful."

"Bollocks," he replied. "My mother has killed off all of her husbands. She's yet to see a day in Azkaban and is rich as sin. _That _is shit reasoning."

Daphne sighed. "The good guy doesn't always finish last, Blaise-y," she ended before getting up and leaving him alone.

Blaise thumbed through his book to get back to his page, which he had unfortunately lost in his rage.

"It sure seems like it, Daph."

* * *

"Write him a poem," Daphne commanded the next morning.

"Why should I even bother?" Blaise asked, tightening his tie around his neck.

"Because I told you to, Blaise," Daphne said harshly, "I'm not going to let you throw something you love so dearly away that easily, even if you're hell bent on ruining the rest of your life."

"You can't make me do something I don't want to do."

"I can," Daphne repeated.

"And I will."

Blaise clenched his jaw and closed his eyes.

"It can't hurt to try," Daphne rationed softly.

He buttoned up his shirt and shrugged on his robes.

"Fine," Blaise accepted.

Daphne handed him a self-inking pen and piece of parchment. "Write," she instructed.

He sat on the edge of his bed and did just that.

* * *

Neville dipped his quill in the inkwell and stroked the sharpened end to the parchment.

He smiled.

"Perfect," he whispered.

* * *

_i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done  
by only me is your doing,my darling)  
i fear  
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want  
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)  
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant  
and whatever a sun will always sing is you_

here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows  
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)  
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

* * *

_I cannot live with you,  
It would be life,  
And life is over there  
Behind the shelf_

The sexton keeps the key to,  
Putting up  
Our life, his porcelain,  
Like a cup

Discarded of the housewife,  
Quaint or broken;  
A newer Sevres pleases,  
Old ones crack.

I could not die with you,  
For one must wait  
To shut the other's gaze down,--  
You could not.

And I, could I stand by  
And see you freeze,  
Without my right of frost,  
Death's privilege?

Nor could I rise with you,  
Because your face  
Would put out Jesus'.  
That new grace

Glow plain and foreign  
On my homesick eye,  
Except that you, than he  
Shone closer by.

They'd judge us--how?  
For you served Heaven, you know  
Or sought to;  
I could not,

Because you saturated sight,  
And I had no more eyes  
For sordid excellence  
As Paradise.

And were you lost, I would be,  
Though my name  
Rang loudest  
On the heavenly fame.

And were you saved,  
And I condemned to be  
Where you were not,  
That self were hell to me.

So we must keep apart,  
You there, I here,  
With just the door ajar  
That oceans are,  
And prayer,  
And that pale sustenance,  
Despair!

* * *

Harry eyes were alight when he read the first note. "Oh Nev," he whispered happily, "How could I ever have doubted you?"

The note had been dropped down by one of the school's owls at breakfast, where he had been sitting with Ron and Hermione.

"Is that another one Harry?" Hermione asked, excited. Neville had told her that he was going to give him another one, and she couldn't wait to see the note herself.

"So it appears," he answered, unfolding the poem again.

* * *

He received the next poem when he was alone, as he was exiting the Gryffindor common room. It had been placed in the middle of the corridor outside of the Fat Lady's portrait. It was clear that it had been put there only moments before, as no one else had stumbled upon it.

He picked it up curiously, thinking that it was yet another note from Neville.

His eyes teared up as he read the paper, mouth opening slightly.

He turned around and fled back into the common room. Now completely in tears, he gasped, "Is this your way of breaking up with me?"

Neville looked horrified and surprised at the same time.

"What?"

"This…_this_..." Harry held out the note for Neville, and the other boy took it tentatively, acting as if he expected it to blow up or give him warts.

"I-I…" Neville trailed off as he read the poem. "I didn't write this, Harry."

"Who else could have written me this?" he asked angrily, "I mean, you're the only one who's ever written me any poems."

When he saw the uncertain look on Neville's face, he faltered. "Right…?" Harry inquired.

"Well…I meant to talk to you about that…" Neville's face flushed and his voice dropped low into a whisper.

"What?" Harry's surprisingly cool tone took Neville completely by surprise. The harsh clip of the T cut off all other movement and sound in the room, and everyone's focus was now on the couple by the doorway.

"I, erm," he flushed even more as people began to stare, "I might not have written you all of those notes…"

"How many?" Harry asked hoarsely.

"How many what?"

"How many notes did you write," Harry repeated.

"Well…to be honest…" the next part was garbled and jumbled so that Harry didn't catch what he said.

"Excuse me," his tone went even colder.

"Only the last one," he whispered.

Harry's eyebrows to his hairline. He didn't utter another word before beginning to march up to his dormitory.

Neville followed.

"Harry, listen to me, please," he begged quietly, not wanting to raise more of a scene, "I didn't want you to break up with me because I didn't write the notes at first. We had everything going so well…I just didn't want to chance it…"

Harry reached the door. He turned around quickly and replied, "You chanced our relationship when you lied to me, Neville." He went through the doorway and shut the door on Neville.

* * *

First poem's by E.E. Cummings, the second by Emily Dickenson.

I was going to hold out until I got more reviews, but this chapter completely flowed out of me.

So consider this a gift. ^^


	11. Resilient

* * *

Disclaimer: Eh.

* * *

"Daphne?" Blaise called tentatively from the bottom of girl's staircase. He didn't want to chance going up the stairs, as he was sure that they would collapse into a slide, and he didn't want to be a part of _that_ embarrassment. After all, the rest of the house had just moved on from Draco's remarks, and were now shunning Draco himself as his father had been put in prison for being a Death Eater. And although many of the house were somehow affiliated with a Death Eater, it was still taboo to be a affiliated with an outed Death Eater.

He waited for a moment. A rustling could be heard from her bedroom, as the door was halfway opened. A "shh" sound followed, with a titter of giggles.

Blaise tapped his finger on the banister impatiently. "Daphne," he repeated louder, sure that she had indeed heard him but was just choosing to ignore him.

"Just a minute, Blaise-y!" Daphne replied in a sing-song voice. A thump could be heard as something fell to the floor in her room.

"Daaaaaphne," he whined. She merely laughed in reply, in an out-of-breath sort of way.

When Millicent Bulstrode passed by, Blaise stopped her. "Millicent," he asked, "can you please levitate me up to Daphne? She's being difficult."

Millicent shrugged in response and cast a quick "wingardium leviosa". When his feet touched the stair landing, he turned back to give her a smile, but found that she was already gone. He shrugged. "So odd," he commented.

He rapped his knuckles on the door, to make sure that Daphne knew that he was about to come in.

"W-wait a minute!" he heard Daphne tell him, followed by scurrying and another round of giggling. He shook his head and did as she told him.

When Daphne, came to the door, he could see traces of wiped away lipstick across her face and mussed hair that was usually well coiffed. "Hello, Hannah," he called to the person he was sure was behind Daphne.

Daphne scowled. "Can't pass any wool over your eyes, can I?" she grumbled. "And that's not Hannah. It's Padma Patil."

Blaise's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "What happened to Hannah?" he exclaimed.

"She's being difficult," Daphne said, borrowing the sentiment Blaise had used about her earlier, which caused Blaise's ears to burn slightly as to how she had heard him. Blaise shook his head and waited for a real answer.

"She's not sure if she's gay or not," Daphne told him. "_Again_."

"That's not such an awful thing," Blaise reasoned. "At least she's being honest with you and not bullocks-ing around with some guy behind your back."

"She told me that she wasn't sure if she was gay or not after I found her in a serious liplock with Bernie Whats-his-Face."

"Ernie MacMillan?" Blaise inquired.

"His name doesn't matter," Daphne scoffed. A slim, brown hand slipped onto Daphne's shoulder.

"Excuse me, love," Padma interrupted apologetically, "I have a curfew to be on time for, and I'm sure my house wouldn't be pleased, or understanding for that matter, to know that the reason why I've lost us points is because I've been having a mad, lesbian affair with a Slytherin."

Daphne let her through with a roll of her eyes. Padma walked down a few steps before turning around and winking. "Catch you later, darling," she told her. Daphne watched her walk out of the room before continuing the conversation with Blaise.

"So you're getting back at her by going out with Padma here?" Blaise asked.

Daphne scoffed. "Padma and I are just friends with benefits. I personally wouldn't be able to stand her should I be in a relationship with her, believe me, I've tried, and she's perfectly happy going out nonexclusively even into your second month of dating." Daphne shrugged. "I'm an all-or-nothing-relationship kind of girl, I suppose."

"I feel awful, Daph," Blaise apologized, "Here I am, just worrying about my own problems, and you have all this stuff going on."

Daphne shrugged. "Don't. If I had wanted to draw attention to myself, I would have. Hannah will eventually come back to me, sobbing about what she did, and then I'll need your help to figure out what to do," she explained, "But until then, just keep me distracted with your problems. You're fine."

Blaise flashed her a smile. "Well, in that case," he replied with a grin, "I need your help with my _problem_ then. Now that Harry's broken up with ol' Nev, what do I do?"

Daphne smirked.

* * *

"What Neville did was awful," Hermione told Harry, rubbing his back sympathetically. "Awful, awful, awful."

Harry nodded, face pressed down into his pillow.

"But…" she continued.

He turned his head over so he could speak. "But what, 'Mione?" he inquired.

"But honestly, when you had believed that Neville had written those notes, something which you both never brought up, your relationship had no problems," Hermione finished.

Harry deadpanned. "I don't want to hear this," he replied coolly.

"All I'm saying is that-" Hermione continued.

"I don't want to hear this, Hermione," Harry repeated angrily.

"Neville is really sorry for lying to you, and if you would listen to him you could see-"

"Shut up, Hermione!" Harry roared, shrugging her hand off of his back as he raised himself into a sitting position.

Hermione, shocked, dropped her hand to her lap.

Harry gathered himself. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," Harry apologized, "but I told you that I didn't want to hear it and being typical you, you just had to go on."

He stood up. "Come with me," Harry ordered. Hermione was too shocked to do anything but.

When the two reached the common room, they found Neville, Ron, and Ginny gathered around the fireplace. "Listen to me, all of you," Harry told them.

They all looked up at him in askance. He directed his attention to Neville. "I never would have agreed to go out with you if I had known that you hadn't written those poems," he told him bluntly, "When you recited that poem it happened to be a poem that had been used, and I had just assumed. And okay, our short relationship did seem to be a hit, but you very obviously weren't acting like yourself around me, you were pretending to be someone else. It was obvious. Don't even bother to try to refute that. And then for you to just continue on after knowing about the notes like you had written them, it's just unbelievable!"

Neville opened his mouth to answer, or plead, or something like that.

"No," Harry cut him off before he could get anywhere, "I'm not done. You're a great guy, Nev. But you're just not for me. Whoever wrote those notes is. And I intend on finding out who it actually is."

He turned to the other three. "So you three can stop hounding me to make things up with him," he rampaged, "because that is _not_ going to happen! Maybe you can go out with him, Ginny," he turned his attention towards her, "but I am bloody well not!"

In his element, Harry turned and walked right out of the common room, leaving four Gryffindors thoroughly dumbfounded behind him.

* * *

_Your eyes are searching through the masses,  
Still you miss me and my poetic stashes.  
Days are passing and there's not much left,  
You're moving fast your movements precise and deft.  
The person you seek is me indeed it is,  
But still you miss and go about the biz.  
You're becoming desperate and oh so frustrated,  
But how will you find me when I'm so hated.  
I'd give you a hint but where's the game,  
Even though I know you'd never feel the same.  
Emerald green sparkles dimming with time,  
I watch and watch but cannot mime.  
Come my dear look my way,  
I'm sure you'll figure out what I say.  
Faster and faster the clock spins round,  
I move to and fro but make no sound.  
Darkness abound is my comforting sheet,  
I watch from across as you take your seat.  
Nor west nor east do I face you,  
For I am emerald green in colour too.  
Look once look twice look thrice you'll find,  
That I'll be there going out of my mind.  
Hopefully this helps you on your search,  
I'll be waiting on my lowly perch._

* * *

Harry picked up the note that he found awaiting him when he reached the boy's restroom outside of the library. An eyebrow quirked when he first saw it, though he knew that it must be fate for someone to read him so well without him even noticing.

"Emerald," he supposed out loud.

"Coincidentally a synonym with Slytherin," he finished his thought.

"So he's a Slytherin…"

He reread it and exclaimed excitedly, "And he very obviously is in one of my classes…Potions!"

Eyes ablaze and heart triumphant, he carefully tucked the note into his pocket and headed to the library to finalize his plan.

* * *

The poem is entitled _Searching Sight_ and was written by lovely and melodious The Love Dragon. Thank you so much, darling, for writing this! It's simply fantabulous. So everybody go on and shower her with praise!! =D


	12. Smirk

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

It wasn't long before at least one of Harry's friends came up to him to apologize. Harry was just surprised as to who. "Harry," Ron began, pausing often to chew over his words, "I'm…sorry. I didn't mean to push Neville on you, and if you're still mad you have every right to be. But now you know that I'm trying to be a better friend than I was." He bowed his head, ginger locks falling in front of his eyes.

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Ron," he told him. "That means a lot, coming from you." Harry clapped him on the back, and Ron visibly stiffened. "And I'm not mad any more, just so you know."

Harry laughed. "Don't worry, I haven't got a crush on you, Ron. I tend to stay away from the overly macho guys," he teased.

Ron buffed up. "Overly macho, huh?" Ron repeated, flexing his Quidditch muscles.

Harry snickered. "You look like a right ponce," he admitted.

Ron tried not to laugh. He shoved Harry playfully, "Oh, shut up, you."

Harry's smirk faded. "Is Hermione still mad at me?" he inquired.

Ron sighed. "You know Hermione," he replied, "Her feathers are still ruffled because you had the sense to push back. She'll get over herself eventually."

"Are you in much trouble for siding with me?" Harry asked sympathetically.

Ron winced. "She called me a prat, which isn't at all out of the usual, but she also told me to not come within ten feet of her if I wanted to keep my privates."

Harry nodded. "Sounds rather Hermione-ish." He sighed. "I didn't mean to cause everyone this must trouble, you know," he said, sounding rather mope-ish. "When you break up with someone it's always hard, but you'd expect your friends to be behind you."

"Well, yeah," Ron stated, "but we're Neville's friends too."

* * *

Later on that day, Harry found his stomach in knots for Potions. Usually that only occurred when he knew Snape was going to be particularly harsh on him, or even the past couple of days when he dreaded having to face Neville as a partner. But today was the Big day.

Today he would finally find out who actually left him the love letters.

He had stopped to think that maybe it was a guy who was only looking for fame in being his boyfriend, or someone trying to hurt him, or Merlin-forbid a girl. His heart twisted and his eyes teared up, not wanted the whole ordeal to just be some elaborate hoax. He dropped his eyes to the stone floor of the corridor he was walking. Maybe it was stupid of him to think that anyone would want him for him, not the famous Harry Potter.

A tear slid down his cheek.

Maybe he was only in for more heartbreak and despair.

The tear dripped off his chin and landed on his swinging arm, his head swiveled into his shoulder, nose sniffling.

He looked back up, eyes defiant. Maybe that's all that he was going to get, but he could also find out that his paramour was the real thing. Maybe by chancing this, he would win big.

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a Slytherin-esque smirk.

He was ready.

* * *

Hermione huffed hotly as Ron told her that he felt that he needed to side with Harry on this one. "What do you mean 'side with Harry', Ron?" she asked dangerously. "Aren't I your girlfriend? Aren't you supposed to side with me?"

Ron sighed exasperatedly. "Of course you're my girlfriend, 'Mione. I just don't think that Harry wants to go out with Neville anymore is all, and I support that. And anyway, it's not all about sides. I can be on both sides, you know. Not everything's an ultimatum."

Hermione told him, "Harry's being an idiot. He's throwing away a perfectly good relationship! Neville's a perfectly good person, and every makes mistakes, and-!"

Ron cut her off with a chaste peck on her lips. She stopped talking and smiled into the kiss. Ron smirked. "Harry's a grown bloke," he replied, "He'll make his own decisions whether they're the ones you want him to or not. Either we support him and he does what he wants to do while still being our friend, or we don't and he still does whatever he wants to do while we're not friends."

She bit the inside of her lip. "I just don't want him to make a mistake and end up hurting even more," she confessed, leaning into Ron's broad chest.

Ron smiled sympathetically. "That's noble and all, but if he were to get back together with Nev that would be a mistake. They're just not cut for each other," he said. He smiled and added teasingly, "Not like us, anyway."

Hermione chuckled. "Oh no, nothing like us."

* * *

Neville sighed as he headed to Potions. Hermione and Ron had just informed him, together and holding hands lovingly, that they were going to support Harry in whatever he wanted to do and that they were wrong not to do that in the first place. He felt the loss was a blow directly at his character. Of course, they had told him that it was nothing to do with him, just that he was a perfectly nice person but Harry was their best friend.

He doubted he'd have anyone else on his side of the argument anymore after they left.

The three of them were, after all, the leaders of the Gryffindor house. And the Gryffindor house led Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, even if the Ravenclaws liked to tell them that they didn't follow anyone. The Slytherins would eventually come around to the idea that Harry was in the right too.

He sighed.

And it would go down in history that he was the bum that lied to Harry Potter and dissolved their relationship because of it.

_What can I do to redeem myself in Harry's eyes?_

--

Harry strode into the classroom boldly. He scanned the room. Empty seats filled it with not even Snape to be seen. He was the first one to arrive. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes early.

A smile spread across his face. "Perfect," he whispered to the empty chairs and newly-washed chalkboards. He'd have more than enough time to evaluate the people that entered.

He opened a notebook and pretended to be studying for the exam they were taking the next class. Potion making terms and ingredient properties filled the blue lines.

When he heard someone approaching the classroom, he dropped his eyes to the pages and began to read them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the first person to arrive was Millicent Bulstrode. He quickly calculated the clues in the note and found that it couldn't be her. The note implied that the person sat near him, and Millicent sat clear on the other side of the classroom.

She sat in her desk with a sound thump and gazed idly at the Ingredient Room's door.

He shook his head discreetly.

Definitely not the note-writer.

The next people arrived in a group. Seamus grinned in his direction, while Dean waved, and Parvati and Lavender giggled. All Gryffindors.

His eyes turned to the next group coming in the door. Malfoy and his goons. He snickered internally. If Malfoy was to have a crush on him, he clearly would have stated it more transparently than in notes. The words "Oi, Potter, let's go out" were more likely to come out of his lips than a love poem.

Crabbe and Goyle were out of the question as well, as neither of them had the mental capacity for it. Or at least, not that they let on to.

He frowned.

Maybe it was one of them…he would let them come to him, however, before he inquired.

He tapped the end of his quill on the shiny exterior of his desk. This wasn't as easy as he had thought it would be. People who he hadn't thought of before were quickly thrusting themselves into his mind, and those who he had been previously certain were not _him_ were now on his 'maybe' list.

Hermione and Ron came in and sat on his right.

"Any luck, mate?" Ron asked. Hermione leaned in, intent on hearing his answer. Harry smiled. Ron had gotten her to come around after all.

"Not yet," Harry told them regretfully.

"Well," Hermione commanded him, "don't give up! Surely he'll be here soon."

Harry smiled fretfully and turned his gaze back to the doorway.

Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass stepped into the classroom three minutes later. Daphne caught his eye, her face transforming into gleeful happiness. She elbowed Blaise in the ribs, to which the latter rubbed the area where the pain was inflicted.

"Ow," he told her quietly, careful to not return Harry's hopeful gaze.

"See you after class," Daphne said, flouncing to her seat beside Millicent before giving Blaise an obvious wink.

Blaise sat down in his own seat. He rummaged through his bag, avoiding Harry at all costs.

"Hello, Blaise," Harry greeted breathlessly.

Blaise had no choice but to look up. He wanted to melt down further in his seat. Emerald eyes shimmered behind glasses, with black locks styled so they framed the pale face beneath it. His rosebud mouth was slightly opened, clearly waiting for a response, and his cheeks were flushed.

"H-hello," Blaise stammered.

Harry smiled more.

"How are you?" Harry inquired, eyes twinkling with mirth.

"I'm fantastic," he replied with his own smile, showing off a set of straight white teeth.

"Oh, that's good," Harry told him, leaning into his words.

"Yeah," Blaise agreed.

Harry continued to stare at Blaise, half with wonder and half with a dazed happiness.

"I have something to confess," Blaise told him, stomach full of butterflies as he tried to muster the confidence to continue.

"…yes?" Harry answered for him to continue.

"I, um…" Blaise began, but was cut off as Neville walked into the classroom.

He took his spot beside Harry at the table, his greeting smile fading as he saw the way Harry was looking at Blaise, and Blaise back.

"What's going on?" he asked shrilly.

Harry ignored him, eyes dropped to the floor and hands clenched into fists.

Blaise observed the heavier boy coolly and stated, "I don't believe that's any of your business, Longbottom."

"Anything dealing with Harry _is_ my business, Zabini," Neville replied icily. "After all, he _is _my _boyfriend_."

Blaise blanched. He quickly leaned back into his seat, taken aback by Neville's comment. "Oh," he said quietly. "I see."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?" he asked Neville, eyes flashing angrily.

Neville smiled in response. "Yes, Harry?" he answered.

"We're not going out anymore, Neville," Harry told him. Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks amongst themselves.

"We're just going through a rough patch is all, love," Neville said, lacing his fingers with Harry's. Harry withdrew his hand quickly.

He glanced over at Blaise, who was still pale in his seat. "We're not going out," he insisted, more to Blaise than to Neville.

"Don't say that," Neville said through gritted teeth.

"All I'm saying is the truth," Harry told him stubbornly.

"Don't say that!" he said loudly, gaining the attention of the classroom. Daphne watched Blaise with sad eyes.

"Don't cause a scene," Harry shot back flippantly.

Blaise turned away from the two.

"You're the one who's causing a scene!" Neville roared.

Blaise gathered his things and placed them into his bag.

"Why can't you just accept the fact that we're through, Neville? We're through. We're through," he repeated, "We're through. We're through. WE ARE THROUGH."

Blaise got up quietly and left the classroom.

He was halfway down the corridor, the argument nearly fading into silence, when he ran into Snape.

"Where are you going, Mr. Zabini?" he inquired silkily.

"I feel ill, sir," he replied, staring at his feet, and not lying in the least, "I'm going to go to the Infirmary."

Snape grabbed his chin and lifted it so Blaise would look at him. He searched his eyes, and then let the boy go. "Very well," he nodded.

Blaise fled.

* * *

And voila.


	13. Content

* * *

"What the _hell_, Blaise?" Daphne asked angrily as she stormed into the infirmary after Potions. Yes, Blaise had in fact been telling the truth when he spoke to Professor Snape and had ran to the hospital wing only to retch his guts out in the bedpan nearest to the door.

He was lying on one of the cots, holding a cold compress to his head. Madam Pomfrey shot Daphne an evil glare for disrupting the quiet and peace of her clinic, and scolded shrilly, "Miss Greengrass! Those words are very lady-like! And if you can't control your temper you won't be allowed to stay in this infirmary!"

Daphne summoned a fakely sweet smile to her face. "Of course, Madam Pomfrey," she apologized, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

When Madam Pomfrey had bustled into her office, as she had to file some patient folders, or so she had told them before she whisked off, Daphne simmered as she saw a thoroughly sick Blaise. She smiled sympathetically at her best friend and walked to his side. She took his hand in hers and said, "You're really sick, aren't you?"

Blaise smiled weakly. "According to Madam Pomfrey I have the stomach flu," he explained. He stopped smiling and pulled his mouth in an opposite direction, into a frown. "It's a stupid muggle disease that most wizards have built up a tolerance for. But naturally I got it."

"Why'd you do it?" Daphne asked.

"Do what?" he inquired with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Run away from him like that," she told him simply. "You should have seen his face when he realized you'd gone. It was like he was kicked in the stomach."

Blaise let go of her hand and dropped his to the bed. He closed his eyes. "I was just so scared, Daph," he whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt him. I was so ready to finally face him and tell him who I am and what I want from him. But then Longbottom came in and started spouting all that _crap_ and I…I just couldn't…"

Daphne didn't say anything but stroked his forehead with the back of her hand.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," he repeated quietly, before drifting off to sleep.

Daphne pulled the sheet that had been previously rumpled at the bottom of the bed up over his body. She glanced back at him as she reached for the heavy door's handle and said, "I know you didn't, sweet, but you did."

* * *

Harry shook with a silent rage. How _dare_ Neville pull a stunt like that and make Blaise run away from him! How _dare_ he!

It took all that he had in him not to run down into the common room and beat the living daylights out of his ex-boyfriend right now. He kicked the bottom of his four-poster bed. The door creaked open, and Ron shuffled in, followed by Hermione.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, voice full of concern.

"Of course he isn't okay, Hermione," Ron answered for him, "Don't be thick."

"_Me_ don't be thick," Hermione repeated, quirking an eyebrow, "Look who's talking, Ronald."

"Guys, please," Harry interjected before the argument could grow into fully-fledged.

"Sorry," Ron apologized, and Hermione soon followed suit.

"I'm fine," he lied, shifting his eyes to the door. "I just need to go and see Blaise to clear this all up."

"How are you going to do that?" Ron inquired, "You can't very well get into the Slytherin common room, and we don't have Potions again until next week." He glanced at Hermione worriedly. "I don't know what to tell you, mate."

Harry shook his head and paced back and forth. "I'll check the library," he decided. "If he isn't there, I'll try to find that Daphne girl he's always hanging around."

"And if you can't find Daphne?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, I don't know!" Harry fumed. "I'll find him. I don't know how, but I will."

* * *

A metallic taste ran through Harry's mouth as his teeth left the inside of his lower lip. "Damn it all to hell," he cursed when he realized he was bleeding, although mirroring the sentiments he had felt moment before. He had been unsuccessful at finding Blaise, and he'd been everywhere he could think of.

The library, the boy's bathroom, outside of the Slytherin common room…of course, he wasn't exactly sure where the Slytherin common room was. So he had loitered around the dungeons until Snape came by and told him the if he were to catch Harry out and about after curfew, he would have more to worry about than breaking up with Neville.

So now he was headed back to the Gryffindor common room, as curfew was fast approaching. And though he knew that the chance of Snape actually finding him breaking the rules in the upper levels of the castle was slim to none, he didn't fancy taking that chance.

"Tomorrow," he promised aloud, partially to himself and partially to Blaise. "I'll continue to look for you tomorrow."

* * *

Blaise awoke to Madam Pomfrey hovering over him, pressing a cool compress to his forehead. He smiled weakly at her, and she tutted that he should still be sleeping. "You need to get all the rest you can to recover," she admonished.

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed before dozing off to sleep once more.

A few hours later, Daphne stopped by but found him still asleep.

"Miss Greengrass," Madam Pomfrey greeted cordially as she directed a group of detention students to soiled bedpans that needed to be cleaned. "Mr. Zabini is still asleep, but if you come back around dinner time, I'm sure he'll be awake then."

Daphne nodded, but continued to stand beside Blaise's bed anyway. "Thanks," she said. Madam Pomfrey took that as her cue to leave and trotted back to her office.

"Hey, Blaise-y," Daphne told Blaise, smoothing the crisp bed sheets with her slim hands. "It's my lunch break now. I thought I'd come and check on you."

She waited for a response, but none came. She nodded and smiled slightly. "You're really out of it, huh?"

She smoothed the hair from his sweaty forehead.

"I'm expecting that Harry wanted to approach me during lunch," she continued, "Since I'm not there, I bet he's panicking as to what to do. You're nowhere to be found, I'm nowhere to be found. A bunch of loners, the two of us. Don't leave much of a trail." She joked, but the air stayed awkward.

Blaise stirred, but only to turn over onto his side. "Alright," Daphne said, "I'll leave you to sleep now. I just thought you'd like the update, even if you really can't hear me."

Blaise cracked an eye open. "Daph?" he asked sleepily.

Daphne grinned and replied, "Yes, Blaise-y?"

He yawned and closed his eye again. "Tell Harry where I am," he instructed.

"You sure?" Daphne asked, face a cross between worried and perplexed.

"Yeah," he repeated, rolling onto his back once more. His head tilted to he could look at her without holding up his head. "I'd like that very much."

* * *

"He's in the infirmary," Daphne told Harry bluntly, once she had walked into the Great Hall and straight to the Gryffindor table. She ignored the many stares she was receiving and focused her attention of the dark haired boy in front of her.

"Blaise is?" Harry breathed; hope exploiting the most recent stress contours of his face.

"Yes. He's sick," she explained.

"Is that why he went away?" Harry asked quietly, reminiscent of a child.

"Partially," she told him unsympathetically. She began to walk away.

"Wait!" Harry called. She stopped but didn't turn back to him.

When he realized that she wasn't going to turn around for more, he called out, "Thank you for telling me this."

And although he couldn't see it, Daphne's face held a small, self-satisfied smile.

* * *

"Daphne?" Hannah called as Daphne was about to leave the Great Hall.

Daphne spun around, surprise written all over her face. "Hannah?" Daphne answered, confused as to what her ex-girlfriend could possibly say to her now.

Hannah ran to her from the Hufflepuff table and engulfed her in a hug. She pressed her lips against the top of Daphne's head. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, tears leaking from the corners of her cornflower eyes.

Daphne sobbed into Hannah's chest, releasing all of the grief and confusion she had hidden away since the beginning of their relationship troubles. The two didn't care that they were attracting the attention of the student body, but held onto each other as if their lives were depending on it.

"Does this mean…?" Daphne dared to ask.

Hannah took Daphne's face into her hands and stared deep into her eyes. "I love you, Daphne Greengrass," she answered before kissing her softly.

Daphne melted into the taller girl's embrace. The two became one.

* * *

"Blaise?" Harry asked tentatively as he walked into the infirmary. When he saw Blaise lying on a cot, he hurried to his side. Eyes full of tears, he looked down upon the dark-skinned boy's face. Harry's hand cupped his cheek, thumb stroking high cheek bone.

Blaise stirred.

"Hi," Harry said softly as Blaise opened his eyes.

"_So I behold my visions on the ground  
No longer radiant, an ignoble heap  
Of broken, dusty glass. And so, unlit,  
Even by hope or faith, my dragging steps  
Force me forever through the passing days,"_ he quoted. He placed his hand over Harry's, who was still stroking his cheek. "Dreams are so cruel," he whispered as he leaned into Harry's touch.

"This isn't a dream," Harry told him.

"Do I really want this so bad that I have to summon up falsehoods?" Blaise asked himself, disgusted. "Am I really that much of a coward that I can't make my own happiness and instead have to dream of it?"

"Stop," Harry said. "This isn't a dream. It's real."

Blaise merely smiled and said, "If that's what you want, I'll be more than happy to oblige for however long this dream will last."

Harry drew his eyebrows together in frustration. "How can I make you realize that this isn't a dream?" he asked himself aloud.

Blaise didn't answer, but gazed at what he thought was a figment of his imagination.

Harry shuddered. "Your eyes are so beautiful," Blaise murmured. He let go of Harry's hand and reached for his glasses. He took them off of Harry and set them on the bedside table. "You should wear contacts," he informed him.

Harry leaned down towards Blaise. His lips hovered mere inches from the other boy's, parted and breathing heavily. He placed his two hands on either side of Blaise's head to support himself as he dipped down and captured Blaise's lips with his own.

Urgent, passionate nips were placed upon Harry's lips by a newly strong Blaise. He sat up and pulled Harry down onto the bed, Harry allowing himself to be led without any qualms.

When the two broke for air, Blaise asked sheepily, "This isn't a dream, is it?"

"No," Harry panted with glazed eyes.

Blaise pushed Harry back, away from his previous clutch on Blaise's shoulders. "We can't do this then. Not here," Blaise stated.

Harry moaned frustratedly. "I don't care about the niceties, Blaise," he said desperately.

Blaise would accept that choice. "I'm sick," he said practically. "And I'm pretty sure swapping saliva with someone is not the correct way for me to get better. I don't want you to catch what I have either."

"I won't," Harry told him, reaching back for Blaise's face.

Blaise stopped his hands. "No," he said firmly. He looked into Harry's eyes, and Harry looked away. Blaise took his hands and held Harry so he was forced to look him in the eye. "I'm going to do this right," Blaise insisted. "I'm going to treat you right."

Harry leaned into Blaise's chest, head resting on his collarbone, and Blaise held him. "Okay," Harry whispered.

* * *

Woo! Our boys are finally together!

Leave me some love. =D


	14. Shock

Neville hummed to himself as he walked towards the Great Hall. He knew that Harry was still angry at him, but he also knew that they'd be able to work it out. "We're such a good couple," he told himself confidently, "Everyone says so, so it must be true."

He knew that Harry was mad at him. He wasn't deluded, or so he told himself. He knew the facts. "I still have a chance," he promised himself.

It had been a week since he and Harry had fought in Potions class, and he was certain the dark-haired boy had had enough time to cool down. Sure, Harry had _pretended_ two nights ago that he didn't want to talk to Neville. But hadn't he read somewhere that exactly that meant the opposite? Or maybe it only applied to girls. He sighed. He supposed that it wouldn't hurt to try.

He walked through the double doors to the hall, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves and muster up some courage. Palms sweaty and clenched, he made his way towards Harry confidently.

He was relieved to see that no one else was at the table yet, except for two fifth years who sat at the opposite end. That would just make it all the easier to talk to him.

"Hullo, Harry," he said when he arrived beside him. He felt himself relax and let his hands loose.

Harry, surprised, look up at Neville. When he saw him, his expression changed into suspicion and slight worry.

"Hello, Neville," he returned pleasantly, turning his gaze back towards his plate.

Neville sat down next to him, back towards the table. "I was thinking," he began, "that maybe we could give going out another go, you know? Because I really liked it when we were together and…"

Harry didn't make any irregular movements and stayed perfectly still. "I don't think so," he told him quietly.

Neville brow furrowed, and he began to get nervous again. "I-I, I just thought that," he stumbled across his rehearsed words.

"The entire we were going out was a lie, Nev," Harry said sympathetically, shifting his eyes toward Neville, sadness etched into his eyes.

"I d-didn't even kn-know that," Neville protested.

"The only reason I went out with you was because I thought…" Harry chuckled to himself, though not trying to be unkind towards the other boy.

"B-but," Neville cut in.

Harry spoke over him, "I'm sure you'll see that we're really better off with other people…"

"I don't th-"

"I mean, not everyone can be like 'Mione and Ron and get it right one of the first t…"

"_But I love you!_"

Harry stopped talking abruptly and just stared at Neville, who flushed scarlet. They had now attracted the attention of the two fifth years, who were watching the scene intently.

"I-I love you," Neville repeated more calmly.

"Oh, _Neville_," Harry said sadly, shaking his head back and forth.

"I do," he said once more.

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. He got up to leave. "I just…I…" Harry fled.

Parvati, who was coming in the door while Harry was exiting, merely held the door open for him with an amused expression on her face. She smiled at Neville and came to sit by him, oblivious to the heartbroken state he was in.

"Have you heard, Nev?" she asked, dishing food onto her plate.

"Heard what, Parvati?" he inquired softly.

"Harry finally found the person who wrote all those notes to him—Blaise Zabini, can you imagine? They're officially going out. Isn't that just grand?"

* * *

"Hello, you," Blaise said as he walked lightly into the room, trying not to worsen the head ache that was left over from his illness. Harry, who was sitting with his back to him in the library, didn't move.

"Hi," was all that he said.

Blaise leaned down to press a kiss against his forehead, but found that Harry's face was hot and wet, residual of the crying he had been doing all afternoon. "What's wrong, love?" he asked, face contorted into a worried expression, which made his head ache worsen. He grunted as pain shot into the back of his forehead, and he sat down on the chair next to Harry.

"That!" Harry cried.

Blaise replied, "That really doesn't help me, I'm sorry."

Harry chuckled somberly. "Neville told me that he loved me," he said simply.

Blaise felt himself stiffen. It took all he could to unclench his jaw and ask, "And?"

"And what?" Harry asked exasperatedly.

"And how do you feel about that?" Blaise elaborated through his teeth.

Harry laughed darkly again. "Well, obviously, I'm upset," he replied, motioning towards his tear-stained face.

"What did you tell him?" Blaise inquired, hoping that the more they talked it over, the more he would calm down. He found himself counting to ten unconsciously and taking deep breaths.

"I…" Harry paused, rethinking their conversation. He finished, surprised at himself, "I didn't say anything. I just ran here and began to bawl like a first year."

Blaise didn't bat an eyelash toward Harry's self-deprecating comedy. "Do you love him back?" he asked bluntly.

"What?" Harry asked, eyes wide and confused. Blaise stared at him persistently. "Of course I don't!" he cried. "I've actually known you for less than a week, and I love you more than I loved him in the weeks that we went out," he confessed.

Blaise felt himself go loose once more. A tooth-bearing smile broke loose on his face, and he launched himself at Harry, tackle-taking him into his arms. Harry laughed and scootched over so that they could both sit there. "Oof," he grunted as Blaise's hip dug under his.

When they finished wrestling over their positioning on the chair, Blaise was sitting regularly and Harry was sprawled across him, legs off of the opposite arm of the chair and bottom half on Blaise's lap and half in the crevice Blaise didn't take up. Blaise drew him into an embrace.

"Don't be upset," Blaise consoled him, still holding him in his arms. Harry rested his head against Blaise's chin. He curled his legs behind Blaise's.

"I just think," Harry said, "that if I hadn't gone out with him in the first place, if I had known—and I _should have_ known—this wouldn't be an issue."

Blaise snorted. Harry looked up at him in surprise. "As if," Blaise explained. "Neville clearly liked you for a very long time and only had the courage to ask you out when he did. And there was no way you could have known that it was me. Because I was too much of a coward to contradict you."

"Hey," Harry called him out softly, "You're not a coward. You gave me enough clues to find out who you are. And besides," he grinned, "This is my pity party, not yours."

Blaise smiled back. "You're right," he absolved.

"Of course I am."

* * *

Happy turkey day, everybody! Or for those who don't celebrate the murdering and pushing-onto-reservations of Native Americans, happy unbirthday! And if you got the reference in the latter, you get a cookie. *winks*

And a reviewer pointed out to me that a comment that I had written Daphne to make in chapter eleven could be interpreted to be really out of line and making unwarranted generalizations:

""Padma and I are just friends with benefits. I personally wouldn't be able to stand her should I be in a relationship with her, believe me, I've tried, and she's perfectly happy being bi." Daphne shrugged. "I'm an all-or-nothing-relationship kind of girl, I suppose.""

I'm correcting myself here and will go back in the chapter in a few moments and change this paragraph. I do not think that bisexuals are in any way more or less faithful than heterosexuals, homosexuals, asexuals, or any other sexual preferences. And I'm really, really, really sorry that it came off that way. I didn't mean it that way at all, and it really upsets me that I could have potentially hurt somebody by writing that.

So again, so, so sorry. I'll understand if people flame me for pointing this out. But understand if you do that, your cookie from above will be revoked as cookies really aren't that great burned.


	15. Feral

"I am such an idiot."

The spoken words echoed clearly down the long, dark corridor. A shudder, a quick intake of breath followed. "I am _such_ an idiot!" Words through clenched teeth, the sentence no longer a resonant absolution but a muffled accusation.

"I AM SUCH AN IDIOT!" A roar that led way to a thudding noise against the wall of an alcove.

A broken Neville sat destitute, cradling his throbbing his in his hands. "Oh, ow," he bemoaned pitifully. He lifted his head back up and against the wall, blissfully aware of the sharp pain stabbing through his mind and stared at his hand. Glistening, tepid, dead cranberry. A rusty odor prickled his nose.

He laughed self-deprecatingly. "Idiot," he chuckled madly, "Idiot."

The pulsing diaphragm dissolved with the hot tears that leaked from his eyes. "Idiot, idiot," he cried out.

"Of course you are," a voice replied, lacking all nasal noises, usually a trait of one with a stuffy nose.

Neville's head whipped to the right. He peered at the boy through the dark, but found that he could not identify him. "_Lumos_," he whispered, eyes widening as his wand showed him who the other person was.

A pointy-faced, pale-haired, broken-nosed Draco Malfoy stood before him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Neville asked miserably. "Here to make fun of me? Go ahead. I can't feel any lower than I am now. Fire away."

"Oh, stop it," Draco huffed impatiently, "I don't have all day, and even if I did I certainly wouldn't want to spend it listening to you whine about your _tragically_ pathetic life, Longbottom."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" he demanded heatedly. When met with a death stare from Draco, Neville presented him with a cautious smile tainted with fear. "If you don't mind me asking, that is," he backtracked.

"I'm here to give you a proposition," Draco informed him.

Neville stared curiously up at the Slytherin. He patted the ground next to him. "Have a seat then," he allowed, "and I might be interested in what you have to say."

* * *

"So nice to meet you, Blaise," Hermione beamed as she shook Blaise's hand ecstatically with both of her hands.

"It's nice to meet you too, Hermione," Blaise returned, "although it isn't exactly as if we've never seen each other before. After all, we have been having the same classes for six years."

His comment took the wind out of Hermione's smile. She continued to do so, but it was waning quickly.

"Be nice," Harry whispered to the slightly taller boy, encircling Blaise's waist with his arms.

Blaise grinned at Hermione, in apology. "It's nice to get to know you finally all the same," she reworded.

Ron stared coolly at the Slytherin. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and Blaise felt his smile fade. "_This_ is the bloke who was writing you all of those poems, Harry?" Ron asked.

"Er, yeah, Ron," Harry replied nervously, "That's what I told you guys."

Ron surveyed Blaise. "Are you sure?" he asked again.

"Of course I am!" Harry answered heatedly. "What are you talking about, Ron?"

"Well, I dunno," Ron said defensively, "You thought Neville was _him._ And now you think Blaise is _him_. How do you know that he isn't playing you, Harry?" He drop his voice and drew Harry away from Blaise. "I don't want you to get hurt again, mate."

"Why are you doing this now?" Harry asked. He bit his lip to try to stop tears from falling. "I thought things were okay between us."

"They are," Ron told him insistently. "Nothing's wrong between, I swear it. I just don't…oh I don't know, Harry. Just make sure that he's 'the one'."

Harry looked as if he were going to say something else, but decided against this. "We'll talk about this later," he threatened/promised.

Ron merely sighed and looked away. Harry grabbed Blaise's arm and led away.

The two Gryffindors were left in silence. That was, until Hermione smacked Ron over the head. "Ow!" he cried, rubbing his head. "What was that for, 'Mione?"

Hermione merely glared at him before turning on her heel and walking away.

Ron sighed once more and went after Harry and Blaise.

* * *

"Harry, wait," Ron called.

Harry did not wait, though Blaise did look back at him and whisper something into Harry's ear. "Just hear him out," he murmured, brushing his lips against the shell of Harry's ear. "What harm can it do?"

Harry closed his eyes and pecked Blaise on his lips. "Alright," he said loudly, both to Blaise and to Ron.

Ron nodded gratefully toward Blaise. Blaise excused himself, "I'll see you later, Harry. I'm going back to my common room to do homework or something. Have a nice chat, you two."

"What is it, Ron?" Harry asked impatiently.

Ron waited until Blaise was out of sight before he answered. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I'm really sorry for doing that."

Harry huffed. "And?"

Ron's lip pressed into a grim line. "I was totally out of line for saying what I did. I know that Blaise is '_the one_ ' for you. I do. I don't think he's a Neville."

"Then why did you cause such a scene?" Harry asked more gently. His anger was fading quickly, and Ron could see that.

"Oh I don't know," Ron said, hands fidgeting at his sides. "Maybe it's because…you two are just so perfect together. Already."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Are you jealous of me?"

"Well yeah. But not just you. Both of you. For what you have. I mean, the relationship. I'm not envious of the fact that you're gay, y'know. Just…I don't know. The connection you guys share," he confessed.

"What about you and Hermione?" Harry asked, bewildered. "You and she share that…er…connection, don't you?"

"It doesn't seem like it's even remotely near the same level that you and Blaise's is," Ron fretted.

"You both definitely have a connection, Ron," Harry assuaged his fears. "It's so obvious."

"Do you really think?"

"Of course I do. You two had that connection since first year, for Merlin's sake," Harry told him.

"I guess you're right," Ron supposed.

"I am," Harry said confidently. "Now let's go back to the common room so you can show Hermione just how aware you are of that connection."

Ron smiled broadly. He lifted himself as they began to walk with poise. "Yeah, you're right," Ron replied.

Harry clapped Ron on the back good-naturedly and grinned back.

* * *

"I for one have never liked Potter," Draco drawled as he leaned against the pillar next to Neville, the closest he would allow himself to do like sitting next to the boy on the filthy floor.

"That much is obvious," Neville replied, frowning. He was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to listen to Malfoy speak, since it was so obvious that all he was going to do was gripe about his problems with Harry and then offer a dastardly deed to get rid of the Boy-Who-Lived. Or so he supposed.

"But I know you have a burning passion for him, or whatever," Draco allowed. Neville chuckled darkly and dropped his head into his drawn-up knees, covering his face.

"What the _hell_ do you want, Malfoy?" came his smothered response.

"Ooh, touchy," Draco sneered. "Seems like getting with Potter _has_ given you a pair."

Before Neville had a chance to tell him what he was going to do to Malfoy's said appendages, Draco quickly hastened to his proposition. "Which is why I'm not going to plan to do anything to your _lover_, though I can't see why…oh nevermind, that's beside the point," he continued. "What I think you and Potter's main problem is happens to be Zabini. Once you get rid of the problem, you and the Boy-Who-Refuses-to-Die can be together."

"And why should you care about Harry's or my, for that matter, happiness?" Neville asked.

Draco showed his teeth in a feral grin. "Let's just say that I have a score to settle."

* * *

Happy Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, and New Year. Plus anything I've forgotten. And not necessarily in that particular order.


	16. Exclamation

"So," Draco began, "to get Zabini out of the picture…"

"We're not going to hurt him, if that's what you're suggesting," Neville said quickly.

Draco cast him a curious glance. "Did I ever say that I was going to hurt him? Merlin, you're dense. Why would I risk my neck for a little piece of satisfaction? I overestimated you, Longbottom."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Neville replied.

"All I'm suggesting," Draco went on, ignoring the other boy for a moment, "is that we need to break them up. And then Potter will surely come crawling back to you, being the Gryffindor that he is."

"How do you suggest we do that?" Neville inquired. "And I don't want any of this coming back to me. I have lost Harry once; I don't want to repeat that."

"Don't worry about it. No one will be blamed but Zabini. I'll make sure of that," Draco said. "But just keep in mind, you can't ever talk to me in public. In fact, unless I initiate conversation even in what seems to be private, don't talk to me other than Gryffindor drivel."

"I'm not stupid," Neville protested.

Draco raised his eyebrows and glanced down at the boy. He snorted in response, but didn't say anything. "To make things short," he drawled, "We have to make it look like Zabini cheated on Potter."

"Who would possibly be okay with being the other?" Neville questioned.

Draco grinned. "I was hoping you would ask that." He turned to leave, and called, "Come on, I'll introduce you."

* * *

As they walked deeper into the dungeons, Neville drew his arms around himself to keep himself warm. Draco noticed the subtle movements and chuckled, "Oh, but you _are _a Gryffindor. Too cold for your likings? I would think so. The lake is flush against that far wall, after all."

"I'm n-not c-c-cold," Neville protested, shiverings giving himself away.

Draco laughed. A few more meters down, he stopped abruptly and drew out his wand. After tapping a rhythm onto a stone panel, not unlike the bricks at Diagon Alley, a portion of stone shaping like an archway melted into a shimmering liquid that did not pour out onto them, as Neville would have thought that it would, but stayed in place. He thought to himself that it didn't look unlike one of those portals in the muggle science-fiction movies he had watched behind Gran's back.

Draco stepped forward, into the portal. When Neville didn't follow, he rolled his eyes and went back out. This time, went he walked through he was pulling Neville along by his wrist.

"Draco…?" a girl Neville had never seen before inquired as she caught sight of him.

Draco just shook his head, a warning of silence, while pulling Neville across the common room to a dark hallway. He rapped on a door three from the beginning and let go of Neville's wrist. "Just a minute!" a high pitched voice called from behind the door.

Less than a minute later, the door opened to expose Pansy Parkinson.

Neville looked at Draco in disbelief, mirroring Pansy's expression at the two of them.

"Parkinson? That's who you had in mind?" he exclaimed.

"Longbottom?" Pansy smirked. "I never pegged you as a chubby chaser, Drakey-poo."

"I-he-she…" Neville uttered incoherently.

Draco kissed Pansy on each cheek and then pushed her aside and strode into her room. Pansy rolled her eyes and let a confused Neville into her room as well before closing the door behind them.

"I am _not_ with Longbottom, Pans," Draco informed her.

"Oh, drat," Pansy pouted. She plopped herself down on one of the dark canopy beds, full skirts splaying on either sides of her white legs. She twirled one of her black curls with a slim finger. "That would have been _so _kinky."

"Sorry to disappoint." Draco sat on the bed across from Pansy.

"Well since you're not here to flaunt your new relationship…you must be here to beg me to have mind-blowing sex with you to convince you that you're not a bloody poof?" Pansy teased with bright eyes. "I never pegged you as much of an exhibitionist, darling. _That _is kinky though, so I suppose you're forgiven for not being with the Gryffindor."

"Wrong again," Draco chirped, taking Neville a-back. "We're here for your help, actually." He glanced over at Neville. "Are you going to just stand there like a log? Sit down," he exclaimed impatiently.

Neville took a seat, while Draco continued to talk, "We need your help breaking up a couple."

Pansy grinned, bright white teeth gleaming against red lips. "What do you need me to do?"

* * *

Neville slunk back into the Gryffindor common room close around eight. He had spent the last few hours listening to Draco and Pansy go over finer details to their plan. He hadn't known what his purpose was until Draco had turned to him and informed him that he needed to do reconnaissance.

So that was what he aimed to do.

He just wasn't prepared for what he saw when he got into the room.

"Urgh," he groaned, covering his eyes with his hand.

Pressed into the wall was Blaise, and holding him there was Harry. Blaise's long arms were wrapped around Harry's neck lazily, and the two were engaged in equally lazy, slow kissing. Neither had heard Neville, so by the time he had regained feeling and the nausea had melted away, he snuck away without either of them noticing.

When he had reached the top of the stairs, Blaise began to speak. Neville hid behind a wall that followed the next staircase and listened in.

"Harry," Blaise began, stopping for one last peck at the other's lips, "will you accompany me to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Neville could hear the smile in Harry's voice. "I would love to," he answered without skipping a beat.

A small smile crept across Neville's face. Soon that would be Harry, in his arms, kissing him.

* * *

"Hannah," Daphne plead. "Darling. Don't be angry at me." Blaise nearly passed the two in the hallway as he made his way to the dungeons.

"How do you expect me not to be mad at you?" Hannah fumed, "You were bollocks-ing around with Padma Patil and you don't expect me to be mad at you? You're so thick!"

"We were broken up!" Daphne replied exasperatedly. "It didn't mean anything. Any time we had spent together was meaningless. You have to know that."

"I don't _have_ to know anything," she replied, crossing her arms across her chest.

Blaise chose not to say anything and passed by without either of them noticing.

"So you _bollocks_-_ing_ around with Ernie MacMillan meant you were cheating on me," Daphne proposed.

"That's different," Hannah scowled.

"How could that possibly be different!" Daphne exclaimed. "The fact that he was male was the only thing that was different."

"I told you that I would be trying out different relationships," Hannah explained, "You didn't warn me."

"So you assumed I would take up an Amish existence whilst you were having a merry old time trying to convince yourself that you actually loved me? Bollocks is what I say to that," Daphne yelled. When she heard her yell echo down the hall, she calmed. "Bollocks."

"You wouldn't have wanted me doubting our relationship. I know you wouldn't, so don't bother trying to deny that," she said. Then she added snidely, "Besides, Patil is a grade A slut. I thought you had more class than that."

"Take that back," Daphne said dangerously, "You take that back."

"So you get defensive when I call out Patil but you don't get angry when I ask you for a break in our relationship," Hannah continued, eyes shimmering with tears.

Daphne frowned deeply. "Merlin, Hannah. That was _months _ago. Merlin, you can hold a grudge. Padma and I are friends. Just friends. Friends who like to fool around together," she allowed, "but nothing more. I swear upon it. Of course I didn't get angry at you. You said it yourself, I couldn't possibly bear to be with you while you doubted us. Why would I get angry for that?"

"I didn't have sex with Padma," Daphne continued. "Can you say the same for you and Ernie?"

Hannah didn't say anything.

"I thought so," Daphne said quietly. "I don't understand why you're so angry with me, Hannah. I just don't." With that, she walked away, leaving Hannah to herself.

* * *

Not ten minutes later, Daphne was being cradled in Blaise's arms in the Slytherin common room. "I just don't understand her bloody mood swings," she cried brokenly. He brushed her hair away from her face tenderly and let her continue to cry.

"You know that I don't understand you women," Blaise attempted to joke.

Daphne laughed. "I know," she replied, eyes shining with mirth and cheeks with the tears.

"Isn't it funny," she thought aloud, "how polar opposite our love lives seem to be?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I'm in a rut, and you couldn't be happier in your relationship," she explained, "when weeks ago I was going strong with Hannah and was obliviously happy while Harry was going out with Neville and you were depressed."

"That does suck," he agreed.

"Not for you," she teased.

"Of course for me," he explained, "because we'll never be able to wallow together if we continue in this pattern."

"You never were one for karma though," Daphne said.

Blaise smiled. "So maybe we do have a chance."

* * *

Happy New Years, folks! Hope you have a good one.


	17. Shatter

* * *

"Big day, huh Harry?" Parvati squealed as Harry walked down the stairs and into the common room. He ran a hand lazily through raven locks and yawned, nodding in affirmation.

Lavender appeared and surveyed Harry with calculating eyes.

Harry stopped in his tracks. "What are you guys doing?" he asked warily.

"Well…since it is your _first date with Blaise!_ we thought that we would lend you a hand in getting ready…" Parvati began.

"…so you'll look uber-hot, and Blaise will totally want to be with you forever!" Lavender finished, ending with a high pitched squeal.

"Er," Harry said, unsure of how to respond to that. He was interrupted by a pair of arms that wrapped themselves around his waist and a chin that rested on his shoulder.

"I don't think he'll be having a problem with that, girls," Blaise told them. Harry turned his head and grinned at him. Blaise replied by kissing him chastely on the corner of his mouth.

Lavender and Parvati let out a chorus of "aww"s. "Well, have fun you two!" Lavender gushed.

"Yes," Parvati added, "and Harry, remember _all_ the details. We want a full report tonight when you get back." The two winked at him and then walked away,

"Hey you," Blaise said softly. He lowered his hands from Harry's waist to his hands, clutching the other boy's hands with his own.

"Hi," Harry replied. He turned to face his boyfriend, breaking the hand contact for only a second before taking them back. "You're early."

"I thought I'd surprise you," Blaise explained, flushing slightly, "Besides, I couldn't really stay away."

"Aren't you sweet?" Harry nuzzled his head against Blaise's neck.

"Yes, well, I try." Blaise grinned cheekily.

"So, what's the real reason you're here?" Harry asked, smiling slyly at Blaise. Harry turned to face Blaise to see his face, and leaned into him once again, resting his arms on Blaise's shoulders, hands clasped loosely behind Blaise's head.

"I can't just be here to see you?" he asked, deadpanning. He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist. At Harry's roll of the eyes, he cracked a grin again. "Alright, you caught me. I was told by Daphne that if I didn't bring you down to the dungeons that she would personally castrate me. Then, when I told her that I wouldn't bring you down to a pit full of snakes even with that threat, she relented and said she would meet us at the library."

"Hm," was all that Harry replied.

Blaise looked concerned. "Is that all I get? No yea or nay towards the matter?" he inquired more timidly than he had begun.

"Well, since that particular aspect of your anatomy is in danger, I suppose I'll have to," Harry replied, feigning boredom. He finished the sentence with a lascivious wink.

Blaise gave a long and drawn out theatrical sigh. "I _suppose_ I'll have to take you then," he said. A thought passed across his face. "Actually, I have to do something really quick." At Harry's impatient expression, he added, "Really, really quick. I promise."

"Oh okay," Harry relented, drawing every syllable out.

"I promise," Blaise restated. He bumped his forehead against Harry's and then chastely pecked him on the lips.

"Meet us in the library when you're finished with your secret mission," Harry told him.

"You don't mind being with Daph alone?" Blaise inquired in surprise.

"Nope. I'll have to get to know her. After all, I think we'll be seeing an awful lot of each other," Harry explained.

"You are amazing," Blaise smiled.

"Yes, well, get on with whatever you're going to do so we can go on our date," Harry said stand-offishly, although his eyes told a different story as they glimmered at Blaise's comment.

* * *

Blaise walked into one of the many greenhouses that littered Hogwarts' extensive land. Sunlight spilled through the green-glass roof and cast an eerie glow across the plants that were crowded into it. He walked through the greenhouse slowly, surveying the many flowers that populated the area.

Red roses, pink tulips, white lilies. Blaise shook his head to each until the perfect flowers caught his eye.

He kneeled down beside the flowers and cast a spell, cutting the flowers low on their stems. They fell into his hand.

Blaise stood up and smiled with satisfaction. He trotted back out through the door, and up towards the castle. When he got to the main doors, he bumped into someone else.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized without looking at who it was. When he did realize who it was, he clutched the flowers harder into his palm.

Neville Longbottom stood before him. "Don't worry about it," he waved it off, continuing on towards the Gryffindor common room.

When he saw that Blaise was walking towards the Slytherin common room, Neville's face broke into a feral grin. He fished through his pocket until his fingers hit a coin. He pulled the golden coin out and ran his finger across its surface. The coin glimmered and faded to a dull yellow.

"Mission accomplished," he whispered to himself.

--

Draco watched the gold coin in front of him turn from shining gold to dull yellow. He sneered. "There's fifty galleons down the drain," he remarked, tossing the disk into the garbage bin that was beside the check-out counter of the library.

"Shall we?" Pansy asked, offering her arm to Draco.

Draco took her arm and the two walked out of the library.

Five minutes after they had left, Harry walked in and found Daphne.

* * *

"Blaisey-poo," Pansy called from a darkened alcove in the hallway. Blaise stopped walking abruptly and turned about, trying to look for the voice that had accosted him.

"Over here," she called again.

Blaise squinted to see in the dark. "Pansy?" he asked, "Is that you?" He walked closer.

Pansy strode toward him, putting one fish-net clad leg before the other. She traced her hands over his shoulders and trailed down his chest. He immediately stiffened.

"W-what are you doing?" he asked nervously. He held her wrists and put her hands back at her side.

Pansy smirked. "What do you think I'm doing?" she avoided the answer. She stepped around him, catching his legs with her as she did so. He turned to see what she was doing.

"I don't know," he answered coldly, "or else I wouldn't be asking."

She stepped toward him, pushing him back until his back hit the wall of the alcove.

Blaise chuckled darkly, the laugh rumbling deep in his chest. "Oh, no you don't," he told her, pushing her aside.

"Blaisey-poo," she whined, "where are you going?"

He didn't respond but began to walk away.

She laughed, a musical tinkling laugh, and withdrew a vial from the purse that hung from her arm. She opened the vial and dabbed it on her wrists with the corner of her cloth

skirt. She inhaled deeply and smiled.

"Wait, Blaise-y, darling," she beckoned. He ignored her and kept walking. "Blaise-y," she said again. He stopped and turned around.

"Just leave me alone, Parkinson," he told her.

In the time that it took him to say that, Pansy ran up to him and threw her arms around him. Making sure that her wrists crossed in front of his nose before running her hands through his hair, she kissed him deeply.

Blaise stiffened at first and brought his hands up to push her away again. But as the scent pervaded his senses, he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. As the perfume made its way further toward his bloodstream, the stronger the arousal in his nether regions grew.

Pansy smiled into the kiss. "Mmm, so easy," she murmured as she paused for air. Blaise grunted in response and captured her lips in another kiss. He pressed her into the wall, and his hand slid up her shirt, purple orchids crumpling at his feet.

* * *

"I don't know where he could be," Daphne fretted, "All he was going to do was get you flowers."

Harry looked up from his folded hands and watched her pace.

"Oh," she turned to him, smiling apologetically, "I'm sorry for ruining the surprise."

"It's fine," he told her. "I'm sure Blaise is fine. He probably just got side tracked is all." His assurant smile wavered.

Daphne shook her head back and forth. "No," she told him, "Blaise was so ecstatic for your date today. He wouldn't, on his life, be," she checked the clock on the wall, "forty-five minutes late."

Harry shrugged.

A light went off within Daphne. "Let's go find him," she proposed. "Whatever trouble he's in, we can get him out."

"I'm sure he's fine," Harry said again, but allowed himself to be pulled along by Daphne down the hall.

"Maybe he had to stop by the common room for something," she supposed, quickly changing directions and whipping Harry around while she did so.

After a few minutes, she let go of Harry's wrist, when he began to complain of the soreness occurring, and let him walk on his own. Halfway to the common room, Daphne stopped in her tracks.

"Daphne, what's going…?" Harry began. He stopped when he saw what she saw. "Oh, Blaise," he whispered disappointedly.

"Sweet Salazar," Daphne breathed. She recollected herself and then turned to Harry. "Harry, I don't know what's gotten into him, I'm sure that…"

He held up his hand to stop her. She stopped talking and the two just watched Pansy and Blaise.

As if on cue, Blaise tugged at her skirt. Pansy grinned, looking over Blaise's shoulder at Daphne and Harry, and said, "No, no, Blaisey-poo. We mustn't get too ahead of ourselves."

Harry paled. Daphne laid her hand on Harry's shoulder.

"After all, darling," Pansy continued, nipping at his earlobe, "a teacher might catch us. Or someone worse."

Harry took off down the hallway, tears streaming down his face. Daphne watched him go and then turned to watch the two again, a calculating expression on her face. When Harry was out of sight, she cracked her knuckles and began towards the two of them.

Whipping out her wand, she uttered a spell that caused the two of them to fly apart.

She stunned Blaise, and turned to Pansy. "If you value those manicured nails of yours, you should take off before they get bloodied and chipped," Daphne warned coolly.

Pansy left, laughing as she did so.

Daphne scowled at her and whispered, "_Wingardium leviosa_." With Blaise trailing behind her, she made her way towards the infirmary.

* * *

Harry ran into the common room and flung himself on the couch. He sobbed into one of the pillows, clutching it to his chest.

"Harry?" Neville called from his stance across the room. He quickly made his way over to him. "Are you alright?"

Harry sat up and dropped the pillow to his lap. Neville sat down next to him. He continued to cry, but didn't bother hiding it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Neville asked.

"N-not really," Harry answered truthfully between hiccups.

"Alright," Neville replied. He took Harry in his arms, and Harry didn't to push him away. Harry leaned into his embrace and the two sat there like that until they eventually fell asleep together.

* * *

Woot! Long-ish chapter! Sorry for the wait, hope the little extra length'll make up for it.

Don't hate me too much. I delegate that department to Pansy. =D


	18. Recant

"Harry?" Neville whispered, trying to wake up the dark haired boy that was asleep on his chest. The two were still in the Gryffindor common room, lounging together on the couch. Harry whimpered and buried his head into Neville's bright red sweater. Neville gave a small smile at Harry's actions and put his arm, the one that wasn't underneath the rest of Harry's body, around Harry's back.

"Mm…Blaise…" Harry murmured, so softly Neville barely heard. But Neville did hear.

His lips pursed into an uneasy frown, and he looked away from the warm body on him. He looked thoughtfully at the back of the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Harry," he said again, more persistent and a little louder this time.

Harry's eyes opened slowly. "Nev?" he yawned lazily. He blinked away the sleep in his eyes. "Wait-what am I doing? Why am I…where's…_oh_," Harry finished, realization dawning.

Neville's eyes flickered into Harry's and then away again. "D'you think…do you think you'd like to go to Hogsmeade with me, next month, that is?" he asked. His gaze returned to Harry.

Now it was Harry's turn to look away. He hoisted himself up off of Neville and sat on the other end of the couch. Neville straightened up as well. Harry looked at his hands, interlocking his fingers. "I don't know, Neville," Harry told him.

Neville laughed. "You either want to go or you don't, Harry, it's not brain surgery," he replied.

"It's not that I don't want to go to Hogsmeade with you…" Harry began, but was interrupted by Neville.

"But you don't want to go with me. So it is that," Neville said coldly.

"It's just that…it's too soon," Harry said, a pleading tone in his voice.

Neville laughed again, though this time it was cold and angry. "Even after the bastard cheats on you, you still have feelings for the snake. What does he have to do to make himself unappealing to you? What can I do to make you like me?"

"I don't know," Harry said in a small voice. He brought his knees to his chest and held them there with his arms.

Neville stood up and stood in front of him. "Merlin, Harry, I don't understand what I have to do to get through to you! It's not like _I _ever cheated on you. _I _admitted that I was wrong for lying to you, and even then that wasn't such a big deal. How could you possibly still like him?" he ranted.

Harry buried his head in the crevice between his chest and his knees. Neville stopped when he saw how upset Harry was.

"I'm sorry," Neville told him sincerely. He sat beside Harry and put his arm over his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Harry didn't unlock himself from his stance. "I'm such a jerk." Neville pressed his lips above Harry's ear.

Harry, unbeknownst to Neville, was quietly crying into his legs. He didn't answer.

Neville felt a painful pang shoot through his chest. "I'm really sorry, Har," Neville told him quietly.

Harry still didn't answer.

"Har? I-I…I have to tell you something," Neville said again. He bit his lower lip nervously.

Harry tilted his head to the side to watch Neville. Neville saw this and gulped visibly before speaking. "Please don't hate me, Harry. All I ever wanted…and still want, that is…is for you to love me back. I swear. Everything I do is for you…but I know I messed up this time," Neville began.

"What is it?" Harry asked curiously. He lifted his head up the full way and loosened his grip on his legs.

Neville sighed. "Promise to me that you won't be too mad at me," he asked softly.

Harry recoiled. "I can't do that. Not until I know what you did," Harry replied.

"I guess that's reasonably," Neville told himself glumly. "Well, you see, Blaise didn't cheat on you. Well, I guess he did cheat on you. But not willingly."

"What?"

"You see, Draco approached me a week or so ago, and he told me that…well it doesn't matter. All that matters is that Pansy seduced Blaise with a love potion. He didn't mean to hurt you," Neville came clean.

"A love potion?" Harry repeated. He looked at Neville, hurt tinging his green eyes.

"It wasn't very strong. It should only have lasted for an hour after it was administered," Neville explained.

"What did I do to Pansy to make her want to do this to me? What did I do to you, for that matter?" Harry asked angrily, "Sure, I broke up with you. But because you lied to me. And I found someone else. Who I was perfectly happy with. How could you possibly not see that I was happy with Blaise?"

"I did see that," Neville said mournfully.

"Then how could you possibly expect me not to be mad at you? If you truly love me, then wouldn't you want me to be happy? Why would you do this?" Harry asked more calmly. He held Neville's hand with his own. Neville looked up at him in surprise. "Thank you for telling me what the three of you did," Harry continued, "I really do appreciate that."

Neville replied uncertainly, "I thought that you would be angry at me."

"Of course I'm angry at you, idiot," Harry said fondly, "but you told me the truth. And I think that as long as you don't try to get in Blaise and my relationship's way again, we can be friends."

"Yeah, okay," Neville uttered quietly.

"That means no trying to break us up anymore, okay?" Harry restated.

"I promise I won't," Neville told him.

"Alright," Harry said. His tone had turned morose. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business to take care of."

* * *

"You evil, conniving little bitch," Daphne grinned at Pansy Parkinson, a mix of amusement and awe. Pansy had her arms clenched at her side and a frown on her face. "You really thought you could get away with breaking up the two of them," Daphne continued. Pansy didn't reply. "And you nearly did. I applaud you."

"Let. Me. Go!" Pansy said through gritted teeth. She couldn't move out of her position, on account of the body binding curse cast on her by Daphne.

"Ah, ah, ah," Daphne crooned sweetly. She walked over to the girl, and cupped the side of Pansy's face with her hand. "Not yet, sweetheart," she told her. She removed her hand and tapped her on the nose. "You really could be quite beautiful," Daphne told her, admiring her black locks. "Well, that is if you weren't such a horrible person and didn't have crooked teeth."

Pansy clamped her mouth shut frown the feral snarl it had been in. "That's right, pretty, you close that awful mouth of yours," Daphne told her coldly. She made to turn away, causing Pansy to relax, but at the last moment brought herself back in front of Pansy and backhanded her across the face. Pansy let out a cry.

"You will never, _never_ come anywhere near Blaise again, you understand?" Daphne asked, eyes shining with furious unshed tears. Pansy grimaced, her head still turned down where she had been slapped.

"_Do you understand?_" Daphne asked more loudly, grabbing onto Pansy's shoulder and shaking her.

"Yes," Pansy spat, "now will you let me go?"

Daphne growled low in her throat.

Pansy winced in anticipation of a blow that never came. "Please?" she added quietly.

"_Finite incantatem_," Daphne drawled. "Now get out."

Pansy scampered towards the door.

"And next time whore around someone else's man," she called after her.

Daphne yawned and stretched her arms above her head. "All in a day's work," she told herself.

* * *

"Hey Nev," Ron greeted as he and Hermione entered the common room. They had been previously studying in the library—Hermione's never-ending quest to make Ron's grades the best they could be.

"Hi, guys," Neville replied miserably. His head hung low and tears were at the corners of his eyes, but he knew that he had done the right thing.

"What's wrong, Neville?" Hermione asked kindly, rushing over to his side.

Neville just shook his head and leaned into his hands, his arms resting on the tops of his thighs.

"Hung up over Harry?" Ron surmised.

Neville nodded glumly.

"Oh, Neville," Hermione told him gently, hugging him with one arm, "It'll be okay. Harry's just not for you. You'll find your match someday, don't worry."

Ron nodded and then screwed up his face. "So stop being such a prat, okay?" Ron added.

Hermione turned and glared at the brawny boy. "Ronald!"

* * *

Took a quote from Silverone3. Hope you don't mind, doll; I was rereading reviews and saw that one. I laughed out loud and knew that I had to add that one in. So thanks for the inspiration.

And thanks to everyone else too. Your words of kindness mean a lot to me.


	19. Reasoning

"Zabini," Draco greeted coolly as Blaise walked into his room. Blaise did a double-take, looking back at the blond that very much did not belong in his dormitory.

"Malfoy?" Blaise returned confusedly. "Why are you in my room?"

Draco didn't answer his question. "So, I hear you and Potter aren't working out," Draco continued conversationally.

"Yeah," Blaise chuckled in disbelief, "Your girlfriend decided to drug me and then force herself upon me, making Harry think the worst. I would say that it was more of an intervention of epic proportions than just 'not working out'."

"She's not my girlfriend," Draco corrected. He wasn't being petty or mean, which confused Blaise deeply.

"I somehow can't find it within me to care," he drawled. He shook his head and walked over to his bedside, where he grabbed a book and sat on his bed. He flipped through it, looking for a certain page. When he found the certain page, he quickly dog-eared it and then shut the book once more. "Now if you'll excuse me, Malfoy," he said, getting up and going towards the door, "I must be going. I actually have a lot to explain to Harry."

"Don't," Draco said softly, eyes on the ground. Blaise stopped where he was, hand on the doorknob of the closed door, and scrunched up his eyebrows in thought.

"Why should I?" he inquired.

"Because it wasn't just Pansy that was trying to break you and the Boy Wonder up," Draco admitted.

"Malfoy, you're being so utterly un-Malfoy-like that it's giving me a headache," Blaise told him, "so could you please figure out who you actually are so I can leave?"

Draco looked up at Blaise tenderly, eyes shining with resolve. "I don't like being an asshole," Draco said. At Blaise's snort, he said quickly, "I really don't. I don't care if you don't believe me. I just have to get this off my chest."

"Oh, your bleeding heart makes me weep," Blaise laughed. "Now what the hell do you want?"

"I asked Pansy and Longbottom to break you up," Draco said. Blaise was shocked to see that not even a tinge of annoyance or ridicule could be seen.

"That somehow doesn't surprise me," Blaise snorted.

"Will you listen please?" Draco snapped. He immediately looked abashed and dropped his head towards the floor. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"What is the matter with you?" Blaise asked, eyebrows raised and beyond confused.

"I don't want you to go out with Potter," Draco said simply.

"Because that would mean that Harry would actually have something nice in his life, and because you're his mortal enemy you couldn't possibly bear for that to occur," Blaise finished boredly.

"No, that's not it at all," Draco retorted.

"Enlighten me, then," he told him.

"Remember that time in first year when you stumbled in on me and Pansy going through your stuff?" Draco asked.

Blaise bit back his remark about him not having any time for reminiscing and nodded. "Yeah. You were a bit of a creeper back then, Malfoy," he said.

"Yeah, I was," Draco agreed.

"What was that about anyway? I never really got the chance to ask between you knocking me out and then avoiding me for the rest of the year," Blaise asked, "I completely had forgotten about it until now."

"Sorry about that," Draco flushed.

"It's in the past," Blaise shrugged.

"It was…I just…" Draco fumbled for words. "I've been watching you for awhile, Blaise."

"Ah," Blaise uttered—he wasn't really that freaked out, because that was basically what he had done to Harry—, "so you're just a covert creeper now?"

Draco chuckled. "You could say that."

Blaise winced as the reality of Draco's words and actions settled in on him. "You don't…you don't fancy me do you?" he asked quietly.

Draco immediately looked offended. "Of course not!" he protested, a blush settling on his cheeks, "Like I would fancy you." His knuckles turned white in the fists he was clenching together. "Ha," he choked, "You wish."

"It's okay if you do," Blaise told him amusedly.

"I think it's you who fancies me," Draco interjected, "I am ravishingly handsome after all."

"If you say so," Blaise allowed. He got up to leave once more.

"No, don't go," Draco called to him demurely.

"If you don't fancy me, or can't even bear to be in my presence for that matter, why should I?"

"Fine," Draco sighed. "I like you. Okay?"

"That's why you wanted to break Harry and me up," Blaise filled in the blanks.

"Yeah," Draco agreed.

"Since first year?"

"Yeah," Draco said once again.

Blaise let out a low whistle. "That's a long time to fancy someone without even talking to them," he remarked. "I should know."

"Why don't you fancy me back?" Draco whined. "Am I not handsome enough? Popular enough? Rich enough? What makes Potter so much better than me?"

Blaise sighed. "I can't believe that I'm not mad at you for this," he said, mostly to himself. Then to Draco: "I didn't even know you were gay, first of all. I guess you're cute enough in your underfed, never-goes-out-in-the-sun kind of way. And I don't really care about the latter two."

"Now that I've told you…?" Draco trailed off hopefully.

"Not a chance," Blaise laughed, blurring the line between kind and unkind. At Draco's crestfallen look, he added, "I am infatuated with Harry, Draco. I don't think it would be fair to myself or to you for me to still be in love with him and yet pursue a relationship with you."

"And not to be mean, but I just don't like you that way," Blaise said matter-of-factly.

Draco's jaw tensed as he gritted his teeth. "You don't know what you're saying," Draco told him through closed teeth.

"I think I do," Blaise told him. "And I'm really sorry that you've kept that pent up inside of you all these years, but I just can't," he looked at Draco sorrowfully, his tone sober. "I really am sorry."

"Why are you doing this?" Draco asked angrily.

"Doing what, Draco?" Blaise replied, worry flashing through his brown eyes.

"Lying to me!" Draco roared back.

"I'm…I'm not lying to you," Blaise told him softly, eyes on the ground.

"You have to be!" Draco retorted, getting up and pacing about, "You have to be! You have to!" He threw himself back onto the bed and sobbed, "Y-you just have to…"

Blaise looked uncertain as what to do to console the crying boy without bringing back out the inner spitfire that had only just been reigned in. "There, there," he said comfortingly, patting Draco lightly on the back, "It's alright."

"What's wrong with me?" Draco inquired once he stopped weeping and brushed aside his tears.

Blaise pursed his lips into a grim line. "Well," he began, "You're a pompous bastard, try to ruin any good thing that Harry may have going for him—ever, and now it applies to me—, and you wear too much hair gel to boot."

"Merlin," Draco huffed, "That wasn't an invitation to personally attack me. I believe the phrase "rhetorical question" fits here."

"Hey, you asked, I told," Blaise said, rolling his eyes. "You'll be fine, Malfoy, if you can rebound as quickly as that. Now, there's loads more fish in the sea, or whatever saying you want to insert there. Get over yourself."

He walked towards the door. As he was twisting the doorknob one more time, a heavy bookend narrowly missed his head. He flew back around, incredulous, and eyes what. "What the-?'

Draco sat with his legs crossed and a satisfied look on his face. "Get the fuck out of my dorm, you wanker," he directed, looking from Blaise to the pile of ceramic shards with a smug smirk on his face. "And don't come back if you know what's good for you," he ended with a sniff.

"This is _my _dorm…?" Blaise replied.

"Oh, just get out!" Draco refuted.

* * *

Uber-long scene! I am so exciting with this chapter and want to know what you all think!


	20. Chronicle

It wasn't hard for Harry to find a Slytherin—in fact, it was almost painfully easy. But the part of his quest that he couldn't quite seem to fulfill was for that Slytherin to let him into the Slytherin common room, or at least tell Blaise to meet him outside of the dungeon wall.

So with a weary sigh, he allowed himself to slide down the wall in a corridor not far away from where most Slytherins trafficked to wait for a familiar voice.

All he was met with was empty silence.

He stared absently at the backs of his hands, admiring the scars that kept from the Blood Quills he had used less than a year ago with a solemn frown.

"…so that's when I told him, 'Blaise, I don't care what you have to say, it's time to listen to me now, okay?'" he heard Daphne say from down the hall.

He leapt to his feet and ran in her direction.

"He was very clearly abashed, so I felt rather bad, but…" Daphne was telling Hannah Abbot. "Oh, hello Harry," she said congenially when she saw him.

"I need to talk to Blaise," Harry said. "Right now, if at all possible."

"'Hello to you too, Daphne, nice to see you'," she replied. He merely rolled his eyes and waited for her response. "I suppose I can let you into the common room, as long as you promise to cover your ears as I say the password."

Hannah giggled at Daphne's antics, and Harry took notice of the girl. He smiled in greeting, and was met by a cocked eyebrow in response.

"…so cover your ears," Daphne insisted.

Harry did so, and they were soon entering the Slytherin common room.

"Not too many snakes about; you're very lucky, Harry," Hannah told him. The common room was indeed empty, which Harry counted as a small blessing.

"Blaise's dorm is up those stairs, third door on the right," Daphne informed him, before starting up the opposite staircase with Hannah in hand.

"Thank you," Harry called to her before she disappeared in the hallway after the steps.

She waved back in acknowledgement.

Once in Blaise's dorm, he found that Blaise was not there, but instead Malfoy. Harry groaned in dismay. "Sorry, I thought this was Blaise's room," he said civilly, while thinking back as to which door he had picked—was it the third or the fourth?

"No, it is," Draco said politely back.

"Ah," was all that Harry said.

"I was just leaving, actually," Draco continued morosely. He got up off of the bed he was seated on and went to the door. Before passing Harry, as if suddenly remembering who he was and who Harry was, he turned and sneered. "What is it, Scarhead? Your special Gryffindors not good enough for you now? You've finally realized that Slytherin is the best house?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Just get out, Malfoy," he replied.

Draco did so, but not without another withering glare, leaving Harry all by himself. "Well," Harry said to himself with resolve, "I'll just wait here until Blaise gets back. After all, everyone has to sleep eventually."

The room was relatively empty. There were only three beds in the dorm anyway, which was two beds less than Harry's dorm, which was full of his dormmates' things strewn about every which way. Two of the beds weren't even made, the sheets and comforter folded up into neat little squares that rested upon the white mattress. The one bed that was covered Harry supposed had to be Blaise's.

At the foot of the bed was a tawny trunk, that appeared to be padlocked, and beside the bed was a nightstand with a clock on it. Next to the clock was a worn, blue book. On its cover was no lettering that told the title or the author's name, and Harry walked over to it curiously.

He traced the book's spine with his forefinger and flipped it open, his eyes meeting many blank pages before finally falling to a page with something scrawled upon the middle of the page. It was in the same handwriting that had written him all of his poems—so he knew that the book had been written in by Blaise.

It read:

_Anthology_

He traced the calligraphy A's ink, feeling the dips and rises where the quill had put more pressure and less pressure upon the parchment.

He flipped to the next page.

_Brown-thrush singing all day long  
In the leaves above me,  
Take my love this April song,  
"Love me, love me, love me!"_

_When he harkens what you say,  
Bid him, lest he miss me,  
Leave his work or leave his play,  
And kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!_

- Sara Teasdale

Harry's mouth curved into a smile. He flipped through a few more pages before settling upon another.

_Music, when soft voices die,  
Vibrates in the memory—  
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,  
Live within the sense they quicken._

_Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,  
Are heap'd for the beloved's bed;  
And so thy thoughts when thou are gone,  
Love itself shall slumber on._

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

"Love itself shall slumber on," Harry breathed. _What a lovely sentiment_, he thought. He smoothed out the dog-eared corner before moving on.

_Ah Dearest, canst thou tell me why  
The Rose should be so pale?  
And why the azure Violet  
Should wither in the vale?  
And why the Lark should, in the cloud,  
So sorrowfully sing?  
And why from loveliest balsam-buds  
A scent of death should spring?  
And why the Sun upon the mead  
So chillingly should frown?  
And why the Earth should, like a grave,  
Be mouldering and brown?  
And why is it that I, myself,  
So languishing should be?  
And why is it, my Heart-of-Hearts,  
That thou forsakest me?_

- Heinrich Heine

"But I didn't," Harry whispered to the page, blinking away surprised burning tears. "I swear I didn't know." So as to save himself from more tears, he skipped a few more pages, to where he hoped it would be happy again.

_At last, when all the summer shine  
That warmed life's early hours is past,  
Your loving fingers seek for mine  
And hold them close—at last—at last!  
Not oft the robin comes to build  
Its nest upon the leafless bough  
By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,—  
But you, dear heart, you love me now._

Though there are shadows on my brow  
And furrows on my cheek, in truth,—  
The marks where Time's remorseless plough  
Broke up the blooming sward of Youth,—  
Though fled is every girlish grace  
Might win or hold a lover's vow,  
Despite my sad and faded face,  
And darkened heart, you love me now!

I count no more my wasted tears;  
They left no echo of their fall;  
I mourn no more my lonesome years;  
This blessed hour atones for all.  
I fear not all that Time or Fate  
May bring to burden heart or brow,—  
Strong in the love that came so late,  
Our souls shall keep it always now!

- Elizabeth Akers Allen

Harry wiped away a tear from the edge of his chin.

_Since I lost you, my darling, the sky has come near,  
And I am of it, the small sharp stars are quite near,  
The white moon going among them like a white bird among snow-berries,  
And the sound of her gently rustling in heaven like a bird I hear._

_And I am willing to come to you now, my dear,  
As a pigeon lets itself off from a cathedral dome  
To be lost in the haze of the sky, I would like to come,  
And be lost out of sight with you, and be gone like foam._

_For I am tired, my dear, and if I could lift my feet,  
My tenacious feet from off the dome of the earth  
To fall like a breath within the breathing wind  
Where you are lost, what rest, my love, what rest!_

- D.H. Lawrence

Harry turned to the back of the book, to see many pages were ripped out. He instead found the last page written on.

_Should I had never held you  
And have no hard regret  
Perhaps we would go on  
And I you could forget_

_But you I love too much  
Distraught that day should be  
I would forget my love  
What a bitter elegy_

- B. Zabini

"I'm a pretty pathetic poet," said a voice from behind Harry. Harry whirled around, frightened, and dropped the book in the process.

Blaise stood behind him.

Blaise strode towards him and picked up the book from the ground.

"Sorry," Harry apologized quickly, "I didn't mean to pry—I just saw it sitting there and I…well…I mean…"

Blaise set the book down in its place on the nightstand and took Harry's face in his hands. He cupped the stuttering boy's cheeks and ran his thumbs across his tear-wetted skin.

"I really like you, Harry," Blaise told him.

"I really like you too, Blaise," Harry returned, now grinning ear to ear. His glasses slipped down his nose slightly, and Blaise pushed them back up for him. "Thanks," he said.

"I think you're a lovely poet, actually," Harry told him.

"You're just saying that because you're my boyfriend," Blaise retorted, playfully running his hand through Harry's hair.

"Am I really?" Harry asked hopefully. His eyes dropped from Blaise's eyes to his lips.

"I think you are. Are you?" Blaise asked, eyes having an edge of worry.

"I would very much like to be," Harry returned his gaze to Blaise's eyes. "Would you?"

"Yes, I think I would," Blaise replied thoughtfully.

"I have something to confess," Harry whispered to him.

"What?" Blaise brought his ear closer to Harry's mouth.

"I don't think we ever stopped."

And they sealed it with a kiss.

* * *

*beams!* Et fin! I really, really hope you guys enjoy this last chapter, because I really enjoyed writing it. Thank you for those of you who have followed from the beginning or picked it up from somewhere in the middle. Lots of hugs for all of you!

Have a super lovely day!


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